


i talk shit with my girls

by kasuutan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, bartender daichi, florist tsukishima, kindergarten teacher au gone off the deep end, kitagawa daiichi cop squad, mortician yamaguchi, stripper kuroo, teacher suga
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:59:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5093354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasuutan/pseuds/kasuutan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daichi’s mom just wanted him to stop working so much and get a boyfriend already. It's a good suggestion, in theory. But his 5 year old sister's already got more game than he does, and Daichi doesn't think he can compete. </p>
<p>aka; that one au where suga's a kindergarten teacher and mistakes daichi for a hot dad and really it's all just one giant misunderstanding. if oikawa got to name this fic, itd be called Teachers Gone Wild III</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. get out my way

**Author's Note:**

> here we go again  
> why are all my au's about strip clubs....? is that like my thing?
> 
> this fic is a straight up mess and if you think im joking then ahhahha buckle up friends you're in for it. 
> 
> song title from angi3's [talk shit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jjv7m1br2dYl)
> 
> chapter titles all from the dirty diamonds aka CorinaCorina and angi3 (one of them is my sister-in-law LMAO) 
> 
> wonder what they'd say if they knew their songs were being promoted in gay porn about volleyball players

**August 28th, 1:42 AM**

 

He sees him, all ethereal under the dirty club lighting. Soft silvers against the sweat and dinge of the dance floor, he looks like the moon rising above cityscapes. Without thinking, he crosses out from the bar, steps heavy against the dirty granite floor. He tries to reach him, parting hot bodies of the crowd left and right, sweat sticking to his skin as he shoves. When he gets there they’re nearly chest to chest, but it doesn’t _feel_ hot. The club keeps moving, bodies keep grinding, but the heat rises up and around them; against his chest, he feels him shiver. 

Hand in his, his fingers feel cold. 

* * *

**April 3rd, 6:32 AM**

It’s 6:30 in the morning, and Umi’s standing at his door with her matching Hello Kitty backpack and lunch pail. Daichi can’t recall a single moment where he’s seen such a sincerely _happy_ expression at 6:30 in the morning. Despite himself, Daichi, opens his arms and Umi comes running, wrapping short limbs around his thighs.

“School starts at 7:45, it’s about a 10 minute walk from here.”

“I know where her school is, Mom. I went there too, remember?”  
“Lunch is at 11:40. I gave the school your phone number in case of emergencies, if anything happens, make sure to call me ri-” 

“Mom. Nothing will happen.” Ms- _no, Mrs._ Daichi corrects himself- Sawamura inhales sharply, lips pressing into a tight line. Daichi returns the expression, juncture between their brows creasing with the same level of concern. 

“You look tired.” Daichi says first, because she does. It’s easy to forget, being closer in age to his own mother than to his sister, but he can’t ignore the permanent lines on her forehead, the dulling color in her eyes and the fading roots of her hair. 

“So do you.” His mom replies, because he does. Daichi reaches up and presses the heels of his palms to his eyes self-consciously, like he can rub away weeks worth of overwork and lack of sleep. Daichi sighs, finally stepping away from the door to let his mother into the apartment. 

“See you’re still settling in.” His mother pulls a chair out to sit at the cheap kitchen table, half put together from the day Daichi moved into the apartment about 6 months ago. The box is still sitting off to the side, parts for the final chair sitting on top of the cardboard, half assembled. 

“Not enough time to spend on interior decorating.” Daichi owns three mugs, one for the morning, one for night, and one for if guests come over. Two of them have chips in the edge. He brings down the designated “guest mug” and pours dark coffee near to the brim. He places it across from his mother, black and unsweetened. They take their coffee the same way, methodically and with purpose. Daichi doesn’t understand drinking coffee for enjoyment. 

His nods her thanks and wraps a hand around the handle, swigging from the scalding mug like it were a glass of water. It’s like staring into a mirror. Daichi feels the urge to be a little bit disturbed. 

“I want some!” Umi’s staring at the mugs in both Daichi and his mother’s hands. 

“Aw, Umi-chan. You really don’t want this, it tastes-” Daichi tries, but his mom’s already pushing the cup towards Umi. He stares at her in abject horror, thinking first _what the hell what kind of parent lets their 5 year old drink scalding black coffee_ which then transitions to _what the HELL did she let me do that? Is that how I ended up like this?_

Umi leans her head over the oversized mug and sniffs. When she reaches to grab for the handle, his mom scoots the cup away again. 

“Daichi, can I have a spoon? Umi wants to try, but the mug is too big for her hands.” 

“I can do it!” 

“Hmm, I’m sure you could, but just in case you can’t. We wouldn’t want to drop and break Daichi’s only good mug, do we?” Daichi feels his ears flush, how’d she know? He turns around and opens one of the cardboard boxes in the kitchen, pulling out a spoon. 

His mom stares at the spoon in disbelief. 

“I’d be upset and concerned, but I’m mostly impressed you’ve managed to live out of boxes for 6 months.” She smiles warmly, like _oh you you definitely are a son of mine_ and takes the spoon from Daichi’s hand. 

Daichi watches as she stirs the coffee, movement cooling the temperature of the boiling hot liquid. She lifts the utensil to her mouth, blows and carefully lifts it to Umi’s mouth. 

Umi turns her head and spits all over Daichi’s sweatpants. He doesn’t even recoil. It’s laundry day anyways. 

“Bleeeeggh! That’s GROSS!” Umi’s sticking her tongue out, looking completely betrayed and appalled. “It looked like cola, but it’s GROSS!” Umi wipes her hand across her mouth, mumbling something about stupid adult drinks and why adults drink things that taste bad. Daichi presses his mug to his mouth and realizes he doesn’t know the answer to that question; why _do_ adults drink things that taste so bad for enjoyment? 

“Huh, weird. When Daichi was your age, I caught him dunking his toast in my coffee mug while I wasn’t looking.” She takes a napkin and wipes down Umi’s mouth and the back of her hand. “So, what did we learn today, Umi?” Umi crosses her arms. 

“That Mom and Onii-chan drink really gross drinks.” 

“And?” 

“I’m not supposed to drink them.” Their mother smiles fondly. 

“Good.” She stands from the kitchen table and presses a kiss to Umi’s forehead. “Now, you behave yourself while you’re here with your brother. Don’t drink his coffee, or any of the other drinks in his house for that matter. Actually, don’t eat anything in this house at all, who knows how long it’s been packed away in boxes.” 

“Mom, I go grocery shopping once a week?” Daichi feels offended. He hasn’t left rotting food in his fridge since he was in university. “I even bought Umi fruit snacks…” His mom laughs and reaches up to ruffle his hair. 

“What can I say, I’m just being a responsible parent.”

“Responsible parents trust their kids. Their 25 year old, capable adult kids.” 

“25 doesn’t make you responsible. When I was 25, I was-”

“Don’t you need to go to work?” His mom’s face flickers, a 44 year old woman who still needs the reminder that _Oh yeah, I’m an adult with adult responsibilities!_ Daichi shakes his head chuckle under his breath. He sees his mom to the door, Umi tucked behind his leg. 

“What time does school start for her?” 

“7:45. And she gets out at 1.”

“And l-”

“Lunch is at 11:40. If something happens, call you immediately. Umi is allergic to raspberries and penicillin, and yes, she’s wearing her allergy bracelet, I already checked.” 

“And _that’s_ the responsible son I had because I wasn’t responsible enough to take care of myself.” She reaches up and pulls Daichi’s head down to plant a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll come to pick her up at 6, so she’ll be gone before you need to leave for work. Thank you for doing this, it’s only for a week. I’ll get my work schedule situated eventually.” Daichi waves her off. Like it’s a problem, as if _she_ hadn’t single-handedly taken care of Daichi for 18 years. He could live with one week of taking his little sister to school and back. 

“Bye, mom!!! Have fun at work!” Umi waves her arm in the air enthusiastically and almost smacks Daichi in the crotch. Their mother waves back from the bottom of the staircase. 

“Oh, and Daichi, one last thing.” Daichi quirks a brow, and his mother smirks. 

“Take a nap. And find a way to enjoy yourself, for once.” 

She’s turned the corner before Daichi can even say _“You, too.”_

\----

Daichi learns in about 30 seconds that Umi walks _incredibly_ fast for a 5 year old girl half his height and about a fourth his weight. Eventually, he wrestles with grabbing Umi’s hand _(Onii-chan, I’m not a little kid anymore! Let go! You’re embarrassing me!!!! We’re gonna be late you walk SOOO slow!)_ and keeps her at arm’s reach. Terrifying visions of Umi scampering off into the horizon and getting hit by a car, consumed by a bear, or carried off by a very large bird, play across his mind. Umi squirms to get out of his grasp. He holds tighter. 

Daichi doesn’t remember the last time he was out of his house when the sun was up. He can’t help but squint, bright rays reflecting off the pavement and hurting his eyes. He makes a mental note to get some sunglasses, or maybe just go outside more and remember what sunlight even feels like. 

Umi’s brisk and eager pace slows down as the school building approaches in the horizon. They hit the gate, and Umi’s feet are completely cemented to the sidewalk. Daichi looks down, Umi’s lips drawn tight between her teeth, eyebrows scrunched and eyes bulging out of her face. Her hand grows clammier in Daichi’s grip. She turns her head and watches a few older children, maybe 2nd or 3rd graders shove past each other and run through the school gates. A few parents stand by the school gates, cradling bawling children _Moooom, no, I don’t wanna go, don’t make me go, Moooooom!_

Daichi crouches down, meeting Umi at eye-level. 

“Hey, Umi-chan, what’s up? Aren’t you excited?” Umi looks back at him, eyes still huge like she’s been electrocuted. It’s starting to unnerve Daichi, so he reaches up and pets through her hair in some attempt to make her _stop staring at him like that._

“Um...I am but…” Umi looks at the ground, and at least she isn’t staring at Daichi with The Eyes. 

“But…?” 

“Everyone else...their moms are walking them into their classrooms. But Mom isn’t here to walk me in…” It suddenly pains Daichi that _maybe Umi wanted her Mom to take her to her first day of school, not her older brother._

Daichi has literally _no_ idea what to do with kids. He’s never held a baby, afraid he’d just drop it directly onto the ground and watch its skull crack open and it’s brain leak out like an uncooked egg. 5 year olds are even more difficult, he thinks, because they’re like small adults, fully functional with complex emotion. Daichi doesn’t even know how to deal with his _own_ complex emotions, let alone those of his younger sister. 

“Hey, listen.” Daichi _tries_ because he did promise Mom. “Mom can’t walk you in, but I can, if you want. Would you like that?” He hopes that’s the right thing to say, and when Umi looks up at him with a bright, gap-toothed smile and normal-sized eyes that sparkle, he assumes it is. 

“Oh! I didn’t think of that! Is it okay, Onii-chan?” Daichi just smiles, hand ruffling Umi’s hair again. 

“You don’t want to be late, do you?” 

\----

Upon stepping into the classroom, Daichi’s _I definitely don’t want children_ belief is affirmed 100%. He watches as kids circle the room, chasing one another for the sake of chasing each other, screaming for the sake of screaming, making noise for the sake of noise-making. He has to resist the urge to cover his ears. He looks down at Umi, wearing a heavily overwhelmed expression. 

There’s something about the Sawamura bloodline that breeds low tolerance and easy exasperation. 

“Onii-chan, these kids are _so noisy..._ Why are they yelling? What are they yelling about? Are they hurt?” 

“I honestly have no idea, Umi-chan.” Umi tucks herself into Daichi’s leg, avoiding a kid walking past her with nearly his entire fist up his nose. 

_Who willingly decides to become a teacher? What kind of sad individual comes to the conclusion that yes, I definitely want to subject my life’s purpose to cleaning up after other people’s children?_

“Ah, is there a reason why we’re fighting over this toy right now?” Across the classroom, two kids are yanking back and forth on a toy truck. Crouched between them is a head of ashy hair, tousled just right over a face that says _I hand-feed the elderly for fun._

“This is the last toy truck!” 

“Everyone else took the rest!” 

“Oh, well that is a little bit of a problem. There are a lot of other toys though, like these here. How about one of these?” Holistic Saint holds out a basket of varying other toys, and the boys look into the bin in disgust. 

“Those are for girls!” I Have Excellent Karma looks between the boys, confused. He makes a show of examining the bin. 

“Really? I don’t see anything on this that says ‘For Girls’? Do you?” 

“Um…” Possibly Blood Related to Jesus Himself smiles this huge, wide smile, teeth bright and white.

“So they’re okay to play with, right?” The boys look at him, back at each other, and at the toys again. And Daichi swears, through some act of God Himself, the boys _shrug, put the toy truck down, and grab toys from the bin instead._ Daichi blinks. 

Single-Handedly Unteaching Enforced Gender Binary In Parenting stands up from his crouch and wipes his hands on his slacks. Daichi can’t register that he’s staring until warm, hazel eyes become warmer, hazeler, clearer, _man, I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were just a second ago-_

“Well, hi there!” He looks like a piece of the moon, is the first think Daichi thinks now that he’s up close. Ash-blond hair more ash than blonde, it almost looks like it glows under the shit artificial light of the classroom. Lips pull around perfectly white, straight teeth. Daichi has the sudden urge to count them. 

It’s silent for a little, and Daichi still hasn’t registered he’s staring. 

“...And hello there to you too!” Daichi has almost completely forgotten about Umi, clutching to his leg like it’s anchoring her to the ground. She pokes her head around to stare back up at…

“Are you my teacher?” She asks, voice clear and lacking any nerve or shake. 

“Well, you’re a smart one! Yes, yes I am!” 

Daichi immediately takes back everything he’d thought about teachers earlier. _I love teachers, teachers are great and beneficial members of our society, what would we do without excellent educators in academia, excellent, intelligent, beautif-_

Umi hops out from behind his leg and reaches a hand up. 

“You’re so pretty!” 

Daichi’s mouth falls open. He stares down at Umi in complete disbelief. He can’t believe this? He can’t believe Umi’s forwardness, he can’t believe this is the same girl who was nervously standing at the school gate literally 5 minutes ago, and most of all he _can’t believe his little 5 year old sister made a move on her pretty kindergarten teacher before HE could???_

I’m The Talk of the Entire Teaching Staff Because I Radiate Beauty blinks twice. He opens his mouth to respond, pauses, corners twitching, and finally laughs. Daichi stares at his mouth, how his lips part open to let out that light, little laugh, and Daichi I mean, Umi _is_ very smart, and she wasn’t incorrect in what she said…

“Well, thank you. That’s very, very kind of you. And what’s your name?” 

Umi’s hopped away from Daichi’s side, shaking hands with her new kindergarten teacher. 

“Sawamura! Sawamura Umi. What’s your name?” She tilts her head to one side, and Daichi’s a _little_ bit worried that she’s getting along more with the teacher than the other kids. The kid from earlier with one fist up his nose wanders by, now working on getting the second fist lodged up there as well. Daichi stops worrying. 

“It’s Sugawara, but you can call me Suga-sensei. It’s very nice to meet you, Umi-chan.” Umi’s smiling big and wide, shaking Sugawara’s hand up and down. He stands up again and tilts his head to the side, not much differently from Umi a few seconds before. Daichi wants to take a step back, Sugawara’s appearance is intimidating. Hair that perfectly frames his face, tousled in just the right places, high angled cheekbones, sharp pointed nose, and _dear god, is that a beauty mark next to his eye?_ Daichi swallows. He looks down at Umi and finds himself willing to have even a sliver of his sister’s confidence. His 5 year old sister’s confidence. 

“And you must be…?”

“Daichi. S-sawamura Daichi.” Daichi’s going to rip his own tongue off. If Sugawara noticed his stutter, he doesn’t mention anything, only smiles back another disturbingly perfect smile, eyes crinkling closed. 

“And it’s very nice to meet you too, Sawamura-san. It was very nice of you to bring Umi-chan into class today, I’ve only seen mothers bring in their kids. It’s very...refreshing.” 

_Refreshing, or do you mean sad, because most older brothers have other things to be doing on Monday mornings at 7:45 than bringing their little sister of 20 years to her first day of Kindergarten._

Daichi thinks he might spontaneously combust if he stays in Sugawara’s presence any longer. He crouches back down to meet at eye level with Umi. She runs and wraps her arms around his neck. 

“Well, time for me to go, kiddo. You behave here for Sugawara-sensei, okay?” He ruffles her hair again, Umi nodding fervently as he stands up and backs out of the classroom.

“Sawamura-san!”

Daichi stops and nearly trips over nothing.  He turns around and looks back, Umi now behind Sugawara’s leg, both of them waving happily. 

“...Yes?” 

“Didn’t I say ‘Suga’ was fine?”  He tilts his head again, and Daichi feels his heart thaw a little bit. He mouths _Suga_ to himself, and it glides off his tongue easy. 

“...Suga-sensei. Then. Daichi is also fine.” Sugaw- Suga smiles again, and Daichi wants to trace the edges of his lips. 

“Well then, see you later, Daichi.” 

Daichi thinks that maybe, it won’t be so much of a chore to bring Umi to school after all. 

\----

The first thing Daichi does when he hears his doorbell ring that evening is rapidly discard all 6 of the fruit snack wrappers that Umi managed to get herself into. His mom would _definitely_ check the trash can, so he grabs all of the wrappers and shoves them directly into his pockets, foil crinkling loudly in the fabric. 

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” Umi does as she’s told and to Daichi’s horror, her tongue is bright blue. 

“Go wash your mouth and _hurry._ ”

“Why?” Umi asks, tongue still hanging out of her mouth gloriously.

“Because you look like you just cannibalized Doraemon, and Mom will cannibalize _me_ if she finds out I let you have candy before dinner. Now hurry!” Umi scrambles up from the kitchen and knocks over a stack of books lining the hallway. They crash onto the floor and Daichi just stares at them aimlessly. He shrugs and lets them be- it’s not like they were organized in the first place. 

“Wow, did it get messier since I got here this morning?” is the first thing Daichi’s mother says when she steps inside. She stares straight at the now-collapsed tower of books completely obstructing the hallway. Neither of them move. They shrug simultaneously and sit down at the table. 

“I’m so tiiiired....Can you get me a drink?” 

“You have to drive Umi home.” 

“...I was just testing you.” Daichi pushes another mug of coffee across the kitchen table. His mother doesn’t hesitate and downs the scalding liquid with desensitized ease. 

“Mom!!!” Umi comes bounding out of the bathroom, expertly hopping over the spilled books in the hallway like they’re just part of the furnishings in the apartment. She leaps into her mother’s arms and positions herself in her lap. 

“Hello there, starbright! Did you have a good day at school? And did you behave yourself for Daichi?” Umi nods, head bobbing so quickly Daichi wants to hold it in place to prevent it from snapping off her neck. 

“School was good! And I think I did? I helped Onii-chan stack his books, but it doesn’t look like it lasted very long. I told him to get a shelf, like a normal person.” 

“Well, your brother’s never quite been a normal person.” Daichi coughs into his mug. He thinks himself as plenty normal, thank you very much. 

“Umi-chan was on top knotch behavior, her new teacher said so herself when I picked her up, too.” Daichi _tries_ to suppress any sort of fluttering shit his heart is trying to pull. His pulse quickens, just at the barest mention of moonlit hair and a smile that shines like the night’s sky. Daichi gives himself an A for trying. 

“Well, isn’t that good to hear! You must get that from Daichi, I wasn’t known for my good behavior at school. And how are your classmates, did you make any friends?” Daichi and Umi immediately share an expression of disdain, Daichi colorfully recalling nose-fist boy, who, upon Daichi’s return to pick Umi up, was still having an intimate session with his finger lodged straight up his nasal cavity. 

“Kids are dumb. One of them asked why my _mom_ didn’t come to take me to school, and said because she didn’t she didn’t _love_ me, so I told her that _my_ mom loved me enough to put my hair in pretty braids, and her hair looked stupid, which probably meant her mom didn’t love her.” Daichi spits his coffee across the table and watches it trickle into the wood. _Kids are terrible, what the fuck, kids say this kind of stuff to each other?!_

“THAT’S MY GIRL.” Their mother is banging her mug onto the table, gripping Umi’s shoulders tightly. “Don’t take shit from anyone, you hear me? And also don’t say shit, until you’re at least 10.” 

“The kids are bad, but Suga-sensei is so nice!!! He made the boys give me a ball to play with at recess, because _the balls don’t just have ‘for boys’ written on them, now do they?_ And then I beat them all at volleyball, and I made them cry.” 

“THAT’S MY GIRL.” Daichi blurts, mug slamming down on the table so hard it dents the wood. 

“And you know what he told them? He just patted them on the heads and said _‘Well, I suppose today we learned that we can let the girls play with the balls, too.’_ And I didn’t get in trouble!” Umi seems completely satisfied with herself, and Daich looks at her with a mix of awe and horror. In her first day of kindergarten, five year old Sawamura Umi managed to a) flirt with her teacher, b) sass another girl into submission and c) make a group of boys cry because her volleyball skills are impeccable. It’s motivational, honestly. 

“Sounds like you had a good time! Who’s your next victim going to be?” Umi shrugs, feet kicking the air. 

“Dunno yet. Ooh, probably Natsu because Suga-sensei said her dress was really cute, so she’s probably my biggest competition.” Daichi’s face falls flat. Their mother twists her mouth in an unreadable expression. 

“What do you mean, firecracker?” 

“I _mean_ I’m going to get Suga-sensei to marry me!” 

There’s a sputter, clatter, _CRACK,_ and Daichi’s down to two functional coffee mugs instead of three. 

\----

They don’t leave the apartment until around 8, and Daichi’s mother tries to apologies _(Oh my god, I’m sorry, you’re going to be late for work- Mom, it’s fine. They’ll manage for a bit. It was nice to spend time with you and Umi. - Oh, tomorrow I’ll bring dinner over to make up for it.)_ but Daichi isn’t having any of it. 

“Let me at least drive you to work.” 

“That’s probably more embarrassing than driving your kid to prom.” 

“You want to waste half an hour on the subway?”

“Did I ever tell you how much I love the seatwarmer function in your car?” 

Umi’s knocked out cold in the backseat, clearly overworked from a day of Hard Kindergartener Duties, like scaring the shit out of all her classmates with her sharp wit and sharper intellect. Daichi ponders briefly if Umi could be a certified genius, or just an inheritor of the infamous abilities Sawamura’s posses to be horrifying, without ever meaning to be. 

“So I send Umi off to her first day of school, and she comes back with the prospect of marriage.” Daichi coughs and chokes on nothing again, beating against his chest with his fist to clear his throat. 

“I. I suppose so.” 

“This teacher must be enamoring.” Daichi thinks his mom is digging, for what and why, Daichi finds himself afraid. 

“I suppose so.” he repeats, eyes trained straight out the passenger window. 

“Sounds like he’s young. New teacher, probably.” 

“Umi did tell him he was pretty when I dropped her off.” 

“You’re _kidding.”_

“I wouldn’t kid about Umi’s first love.” 

The car ride’s silent for a bit, roll of the wheels and whir of the engine filling in as background noise. Daichi feels like he’s 16 again, getting picked up from his first date in high school _(Did you do anything to her? Because Daichi, I swear to god I- Mom, we didn’t do anything-  Daichi, if you even looked at her below her neck, I will- MOM, WE DIDN’T- What, you telling me you DIDN’T look at her below the neck, are you gay or something? -........- Ah. Well. See in ten years this can be your funny coming out story)_

“So. Is he pretty?” Just to rattle Daichi’s brain further, they come to an abrupt _STOP!_ as a car in front of them breaks hard. His mother slams down on her own breaks, Daichi jolting forward in his seat and smacking his head on the front console. The pain in his forehead is nothing compared to the pain of the embarrassment coloring his cheeks. 

“I. He’s fine.” 

“He’s fine, or he’s _fine?”_

“Mom, this is your daughter’s Kindergarten teacher.” 

“And this,” she says, gesturing with her free hand to her left  “Is my one and only lonely, workaholic son. I take what I can get. Not to mention, your coffee mug stunt earlier this evening was pretty impeccable.” _Dammit._ Daichi flicks his head to stare out the window. 

More silence rolls by, and finally, Daichi gives up. 

“His smile looks like a crescent moon, and his beauty mark under his eye moves when the corners crinkle with laughter.”  

More silence. Daichi’s skin heats red. 

“Wow.” is all his mom has to say. 

Apparently, even Daichi’s mom isn’t sadistic enough to continue with her motherly task of making her only son severely uncomfortable. She keeps her mouth shut for the remainder of the drive, Daichi’s cheek pressed against the cold glass of the window, trying to will the stupid flush on his cheeks away. 

They pull up into a back parking lot of a large, low building. Daichi can already feel his head pounding from the incessant _unts,unts,unts_ of the bass, and he hasn’t even gotten out of the car yet. 

“Thanks again for the ride.” His mother smiles back warmly, ruffling Daichi’s hair. 

“Thank you for taking care of Umi. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Daichi nods, stepping out of the passenger door. 

“Daichi?” Daichi looks back, and in this light, it’s hard for Daichi to forget, the way her hair reflects white strands in the street light, the deepening creases along her forehead and cheeks.  
“Hm?” 

“Don’t be afraid to have some fun, okay? It’s. You’ve done enough.” Daichi tilts his head, eyebrows coming together in confusion. 

“I don’t-” 

“And also.” She grabs her parking break and reaches forward, poking it against Daichi’s pockets. They crinkle with the telltale sound of foil, and Daichi feels the blood drain from his face. 

“Either those are condoms, or you’re sneaking my daughter snacks. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, but when my kid has to go to the dentist for cavities, it’s all on you.” 

She drives away, and Daichi walks into the club, pockets crinkling with the sound of fruit snack wrappers. 

\----

“Daichi, MOVE!” 

It’s 12:57 AM. It reeks of young adult, the mixing scents of overly-sweet vape, spilt alcohol, and pungent Fuck Boy cologne. There’s just one smell missing for the night, and it’s- 

Daichi’s being shoved back into the bar counter, shoulder hitting the beer tap and spurting ale all over his white shirt. It seeps into the fabric, sticking grossly to his skin in the heat of the club. Daichi feels his brow crease, and he’s about thisclose to grabbing Kuroo by the scruff of his neck and tossing him out the back door like some stray cat. 

Until-

“Oh no, no no _no,_ not on _me,_ you’re not.” Daichi watches as Kuroo shoves a customer away from the bar. He stumbles off the stool, into the crowd, teeters a couple times, and empties his stomach onto some poor woman’s shoes. Kuroo runs his hand through his hair and leans across the counter, flagging down a passing server. 

“You. Carrot top. We got yack at the bar.” Kuroo points down at the ground, edging a few steps away as the puddle starts to ooze into the cracks in the granite flooring. He makes a face and leans against the bar. 

“Ugggh, this is the third time tonight. And this time it isn’t even my own.” Hinata sets his tray down in front of Daichi and reaches behind the bar for rags and a bucket. 

“Well, then you’re basically an expert at this now, aren’t you?” Kuroo reaches down and pats Hinata’s wild orange head. “Nice work, kiddo.” Hinata grumbles something in reply, but keeps his head down towards the ground as he wipes up the floor. When he stands back up, Daichi has the right to be impressed. It’s spotless and smells like disinfectant, and even a little bit like lemon. Hinata drops the cleaning supplies back into the bucket and starts to make his way to the back of the club. 

“Hinata, before you go, get Asahi to escort this man out.” Daichi juts his chin out to around the corner of the bar, where the Vomit Offender’s lying. Kuroo scoots over and kicks him onto his side.

“Gotta make sure he doesn’t choke, you know. Worst way to go out.” 

“That’s unusually kind of you.” Kuroo presses his hand to his chest and looks at Daichi with a completely ingenuine expression of shock. 

“What are you saying? I’m _always_ this kind.” Daichi hums and wraps his hands around his margarita shaker. The ice rattles around in the metal loudly as Hinata peers over the bar curiously. 

“I’m this kind, but I’m also not an idiot. If this guy chokes and dies tonight, I’m out a regular. A regular who tips _very_ well.” There’s a loud clattering noise of plastic cracking against granite, and Daichi and Kuroo both flinch. Hinata’s standing at the end of the bar, staring down at Vomit Offender’s limp body, cleaning supplies scattered around his feet. 

“...Hinata?” Daichi sets the shaker down on the counter and steps forward. Hinata snaps his head up from the ground, and Daichi has to take a step back. Eyelids pulled so far back around the whites of his eyes, Hinata’s staring at Daichi with so much intensity it unnerves him. Kuroo waves a hand in front of his face, and Hinata’s back to regular Hinata, warm brown irises and flustered, expressive motions.

“Oh! Sorry, Daichi-san. He just looked real bad, for a second I really thought he was dead or something. It scared me, you sure he’s okay?” Hinata nudges him with the tip of his shoe, and there’s a groan from the floor, light shuffling, and then silence again. 

“Sounds like he’s okay. But get Asahi quick, will you? The sooner he’s out of here, the sooner he stops being my problem.” Hinata bows at a perfect 90 degree angle, collects the cleaning supplies from the floor, and scampers away towards the front of the club. 

Kuroo leans back against the bar, eyes moving from the body on the ground to the direction Hinata’s run off. 

“What the hell was that?” Daichi picks his shaker back up and pours the drink over a strainer into a pretty wide-mouth glass. 

“What was what?” Kuroo bugs his eyes out of his head, and on him, the expression looks so horrifically ridiculous, Daichi has to cough back a laugh. 

“This look- big crazy eyes look. What’s up with that kid?” Daichi shrugs, pressing sugar around the edge of the glass and setting it on Hinata’s forgotten tray. 

“He’s barely out of high school and he just started here a few weeks ago. Probably never seen someone so shit faced they look like the dead. It’s kinda scary the first time you see it, don’t you think?” Kuroo shrugs and his eyes trail back down to the ground. 

Daichi sighs and pushes a beer across the counter. Kuroo doesn’t even look up, just catches it in his left hand and presses it to his mouth. 

“Rough night?” Daichi asks, flagging down an order from another woman in dark red. He turns back to the bar and starts pouring a line of shots, setting them on the counter, eyes still focused on Kuroo hanging his head low. 

“It’s been worse.” Kuroo juts his chin out in the direction of their inebriated guest. Daichi takes that the _it’s_ actually means _he’s_ , and he feels his temper flare. 

“Kuroo, if he did anything…” Kuroo clacks his glass back down on the counter, loud against the hard wood of the bar. The woman next to him stutters in knocking back her shot, startled by the noise. Her and her friends move a few stools down. 

“That’s the problem, he _hasn’t_ done anything, so I can’t say shit. He’s just.” Kuroo scratches his head, unruly hair growing even messier. “He’s not a good guy. That’s all.” Daichi raises a brow and takes the empty glass away from Kuroo. He rinses it out and fills it with cold water instead before setting it back on the counter.  
“And you say that because…?” 

“Shit man, I don’t know? He just gives off bad vibes. I sit on his lap and move around for like 20 minutes every Friday night, then he slips me a couple bills and leaves. He says some shit that’s weird, but he never touches me or _does_ anything he’s just.” Kuroo runs a hand through his hair again, and it stands up in every direction except the correct one. 

“Says weird shit?” Daichi looks down at the floor again, hoping Asahi would hurry the fuck up, because the longer this guy stays here, the more likely he is to wake up, and the more likely he is to catch his favorite stripper talking shit about him behind his back. 

“Ah fuck, just let it go, okay? He tips good and I need the money, so I can deal with some shitty verbal abuse from clients- and NO, I don’t mean actual verbal abuse, roll your sleeves back down tough guy.” Daichi does as he’s told and rolls his sleeves back down.  Kuroo sips from the glass of water and stares blankly across the dance floor. 

“I need to go, I’m back on the stage in 10 and I still need to change again. Thanks for taking care of him.” Daich hums, arms crossed across his chest. 

“Kuroo.” 

“Fuck man, _what?_ ”

“Be careful, okay?” 

“Sure, Dad.” Kuroo flicks his hand in the air and saunters away, parting bodies in the crowd as he disappears towards the stage. 

Almost immediately after Kuroo leaves, his presence at the bar is replaced by someone roughly the same size, but with about 97% less nerve. 

“Daichi, Hinata came and said something about cleaning up over here?” Asahi’s broad figure and towering height means nothing against his timid, passive demeanour. Head curled in and shoulders drawn up to his ears, Daichi has an incredibly hard time believing this man is head of security at this ratty club. 

“Over here.” Daichi points down towards the corner of the bar. Asahi peers around and shakes his head. 

“Is he okay?” He puts his hand to his mouth and bites along the edge of his thumb. Daichi nudges their guest with the toe of his shoe and he visibly flinches. 

“Alive is okay enough for me.” Asahi straights up and looks back at Daichi. 

“What do you want me to do with him?” Daichi places a set of eight martinis onto one of the trays for a server to pick up later. He wipes his hands on the front of his apron and stares back down at the ground. Daichi shakes his head, rinsing his hands in the small sink tucked between the beer tap and the ice chest. 

_He’s just. He’s not a good guy._

“Just get him out of here.” 

And with that, Asahi nods, hoists the man over his shoulder with incredible ease, and makes his way back to the front of the club. 

_And don’t let him come back._

 

* * *

 

**August 28th, 1:39 AM**

And he sees him, dark hair, wide shoulders, blending into the heat of the crowd, but he _knows._ He picks up pace, eyes trained forward, pushing through sweaty bodies with bass pounding in his ears. There’s a brief moment where icy terror crawls down his spine, makes its way all the way to the tips of his toes and turns his fingers blue. But he keeps shoving, eyes focused on dark hair and wide shoulders. 

When a hand wraps around his wrist, when fingers lace between his, he wonders if, even in the sweltering heat of the club, he feels cold. 


	2. do you mind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oikawa's first love was fox mulder, yamaguchi's part of his own flower shop au, and suga's the star in Teachers Gone Wild III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bones became insufferable after christine's birth and literally unwatchable after sweets' death oikawa agrees fight me about this and youll probably lose 
> 
> i dont know anything about xfiles but my s.o and their sib knows enough about xfiles for an entire domestic family of 4 so shout outs to them for helping me out with oikawa's crush on mulder

When Suga returns home, he’s greeted by this indiscernible wailing sound that may or may not be human.  

There’s a lump of blanket laying sideways on Suga’s couch, barely visible head of soft brown hair peaking out from the top of the tattered blue fabric. Suga looks at the TV and sees a red-headed woman sitting in a boat, tied to the dock at the end of a lake. The rope snaps, the boat floats away, and Oikawa starts wailing again. 

Suga sighs and shrugs of his jacket, hanging it on the back of one of the dining room chairs. He moves towards the couch and takes a seat next to Oikawa’s feet. Legs immediately stretch out to cover his lap, and Suga places his hands on top of his shins. 

“What episode is this?” Oikawa sniffles, pressing the back of his hand to his eyes. 

“Eight. Season two.” 

Suga stares at the top of Oikawa’s head, hair perfectly flipped despite his awful, X-Files induced sob-fest.

“…This show ran for almost 10 years. How many seasons are there?” Oikawa sniffles again, eyes still completely focused on the TV. The man on screen lights a cigarette and proceeds to snuff it out in a glass ash tray before walking out an office door. Another character walks on screen, who Suga knows is named Mulder, because Suga, being the best friend that he is, would never forget the name of Oikawa’s first true love. Suga doesn’t really understand it, taking in Mulder’s baby face and incredibly dated 90s haircut, hair overly blow-dried and pushed away from his face. Oikawa makes some sort of whining noise, blankets shifting around his body as he readjusts himself on the couch. 

“Nine. It ran from 1993 to 2002.” The answer’s muffled by Oikawa’s favorite ratty blanket, now pulled up to obscure everything except his eyes and the tips of his hair. 

“So she doesn’t _actually_ die then.” Suga points at the screen, same red-headed woman from before lying on a wooden table. Oikawa wails. 

“Sssshh, don’t spoil it!” Oikawa kicks his foot, nailing Suga right in the knee. 

“Oikawa, you’ve seen this at least a dozen times.” 

“I _said_ shhh!” 

Suga laughs lightly and leans back into the couch. He finishes the episode with half interest; after 12 years of Oikawa’s companionship, Suga’s probably seen at least 15 minutes of every X-Files episode ever made. But he still doesn’t know a single thing about the show, other than aliens and Agent Mulder’s name. 

At the credits, Oikawa pulls the blanket off of himself and hops off the couch. He runs to a calendar posted on the refrigerator, grabs a pen from the kitchen counter, and crosses out a day. 

“296 more days.” Oikawa caps the pen and puts it back in the pen holder on the counter. Suga doesn’t need to ask. The calendar’s been in the center of the fridge since January, Suga remembers the day Oikawa came bounding into his bedroom _screaming,_ and Suga was half convinced someone had been murdered in their apartment. Instead, Oikawa had been holding his phone, face red and eyes blown huge, babbling something about “reboot” and “It’s been 13 years but I still want to ride David Duchovny’s dick”. That night, Suga came home to a brand new aliens themed calendar stuck to the center of the fridge, top labeled XFILES REBOOT COUNTDOWN. 

Oikawa walks back to the couch and sinks into the leather again. He picks up the Wii U game pad and taps away on the Netflix icon. He starts flipping through shows aimlessly, head half tilted in Suga’s direction. 

“So, how are the germ incubators?” Oikawa’s flipping between _Bones, Friends_ , and _How to Get Away With Murder_. Suga points at _Bones_ , and Oikawa cues up a random episode before setting the controller back down on the table. Suga pulls his legs up underneath him as the Jeffersonian flickers across the screen. 

“You mean my students?”

“Whatever you want to call them, love.” Suga tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling. 

“They’re what you’d expect. Kids. Running around, crying a lot. Obsessed with picking their noses.” Oikawa snorts, kicking his feet up on the table. 

“So, like taking care of your old high school volleyball team?” Suga laughs and presses a hand to his mouth. 

“In so many words.” They turn their heads back to the TV again, Booth cradling Brennan in something that looks like a greenhouse. Oikawa scowls, mumbles “Man, new _Bones_ is horrendous, who wrote this? Anything after Vincent’s death is fucking garbage.” He turns back to Suga, leaning back against the couch. 

“So? How is it?” Suga grins, big and wide with all thirty-two perfect teeth glowing under the house lights. 

“It’s perfect.” He wraps his arms around himself, warmth growing in his chest. Oikawa turns his head to look at him fully. His face twists a little, like he’s trying not to laugh. 

“You always _did_ get off on taking care of people.” 

“ _Oh?_ And you say it like you’re not taking advantage of my kindness by being my roommate.” Oikawa bats his hand in the air. 

“‘Taking advantage’ uses such harsh language. You taking care of my occasional sloshed state of being, carrying me to bed on late nights, and that cute thing you do where you hum while doing the dishes are all just additional perks to living with Mr. Refreshing.” Oikawa reaches forward and pinches Suga’s cheek between his thumb and forefinger. Suga bats his hand away, leaning back into the arm of the couch with a smile on his face. 

“What’s it like living in luxury, oh Great King?” Suga holds his hand out in a fist, like he’s gripping a microphone for an interview. He holds it towards Oikawa’s mouth, leaning across the couch. Oikawa retreats, sliding over to the opposite end until he hits the arm rest, and backflips over the edge, landing flat on his feet. 

“The Great King isn’t taking any questions right now, so sorry, so sorry!” Suga spreads himself across the entire length of the couch, chin tucked into the soft armrest. He watches as Oikawa pulls leftover Thai take out from the fridge and sticks it in the microwave.

“See, I’m doing my fair share, don’t act like this relationship is one-sided. I’m preparing our gourmet feast of the night; unrecognizable curried vegetables and chicken satay. Or maybe it’s fish. I can’t tell anymore.” 

In the Sugawara/Oikawa household, the concept of “stove” and “cooking” hold large, red questions marks above both their heads. It’s been four years since Suga and Oikawa had graduated from university, four years since they moved from the dorms into the very apartment, and in the entire duration of that stay, neither of them have turned on the stove once. 

The microwave, however, sees loads of day-to-day action. 

Suga rolls off the couch and starts pulling bowls from the kitchen shelves, setting the table for a nice, comfortable, non-confrontational evening with his roommate of now nearly eight years. 

“Suga-chan, you really need to bring home a nice boyfriend that can cook for us.” Oikawa’s pouring the curry into a serving bowl, tentatively sniffing at it with the lightest dust of disgust across his face. “It’s been take out ever since I moved out of Mama Oikawa’s house, and that was _ages_ ago.” He walks back to the table and puts the dish of tired, old curry on the kitchen table. He goes back to the microwave to heat up leftover rice. 

“Where is this ‘we’ coming from? If the responsibility falls on me to bring back the boyfriend, shouldn’t I be the one reaping the benefits of his cooking?” Oikawa comes back with a bowl of rice and collapses dramatically into the seat to the left of Suga. 

“But honey, you need to _share!”_ Oikawa grips onto his forearm, propping his chin in the dip of Suga’s shoulder. Suga lets him be, spooning curry into his bowl with his free hand. 

“Come on, a pretty boy like you shouldn’t have trouble finding a boyfriend. Hurry up and bring back a sous chef tomorrow, okay?” Oikawa starts tugging on the edge of Suga's sleeve. 

“Can Iwaizumi-san not cook? Is that why you’re suddenly so intent about this?” Oikawa flips back in his chair, releasing his grip on Suga’s arm. He sighs dramatically, serving himself some curry as he waves his other hand in the air. 

“Oh, he can cook, but he won’t cook for _me._ You know, one time he gave me a napkin at lunch. I felt blessed at his consideration. I mean, before he gave it to me, I think it was prefaced with ‘Wipe that shitty grin off your face and get back to work.’ But I really think it means he loves me.” Oikawa lets out this dreamy sounding exhale, and Suga just feels confused. He nods slowly, looking into his curry. He’d met Iwaizumi an outstanding total of twice, once by accident, on a night Suga said he wouldn’t be around, going off on a teacher’s retreat for the weekend. He’d forgotten his laptop charger at home, stopped by to pick it up, and found Oikawa and Iwaizumi perched on the kitchen counter. They’d frozen in place, and Suga just walked around them, unplugging the charger from the outlet directly behind Oikawa’s bare ass, and walked right back out of the apartment without a word. The second time was somehow unfathomably more awkward than the first encounter, Suga waking up on a Sunday morning to find Iwaizumi standing in his kitchen, shirtless and sweatpants slung low on his hips. They just stared at each other, unblinking. Slowly, Iwaizumi picked up the coffee pot from the coffee maker and poured a cup and offered it to Suga. 

“I. Tell Oikawa. I’ll see him. At work.” And with that, he left, shirtless and everything. 

Suga didn’t quite understand the relationship between Oikawa and Iwaizumi, persisting for a year come May, but Suga doesn’t have much room to talk since-

“Hey you.” Oikawa flicks him on the nose. Suga squeaks, pressing his hands over his face. “I’m serious though. All you’ve been doing since graduation is working towards your credential, and now that you have that, you have your classroom full of boogers. That’s two checks on your 5 year plan, so. Where’s the boyfriend?” Suga nudges Oikawa away, shoulders drawn up to his ears. 

“Give me a break, you know I didn’t have time to do anything.”

“Didn’t have time, or purposely didn’t make yourself time?” Suga doesn’t answer, keeps stirring the contents of his bowl around, hoping it’ll look somewhat appetizing soon. 

“Any hot dads at Camp Kindergarten?” Suga spits. Like actually spits, curry spews out of his mouth all across the kitchen table. Oikawa scoots his chair back, eyes going owlish as he stares at Suga, curry dribbling down his chin. 

“ _Wo-ow~_ ” Suga can hear the smirk in Oikawa’s voice, lips curling up real nasty in a perfect, shit-eating smile. 

“No.”

“ _Yes.”_

_“_ Don’t, Oikawa.” 

“ _Do, Oikawa.”_ Suga groans and puts his hands over his ears. 

“ _Suga-chan’s a homewrecker~!”_ Oikawa sings, conducting himself with his spoon. Suga stares at him in horror, because _no, absolutely not,_ just the idea of entertaining the thought feels like it’ll get him fired. 

“Stop that! I am not!” Suga tries to swat the spoon down, but Oikawa continues to conduct his own little concert, repeatedly singing his new hit single, _Suga-chan the Homewrecker._ Suga puts his head down on the table. 

When Oikawa tires of his own song, he puts the spoon back in his bowl and places a hand between Suga’s shoulder blades. 

“How hot is this hot dad?” He asks, voice low and ringed around the edges with amusement. 

“Stop with the hot dad thing, it’s weird.” Oikawa rolls his eyes. 

“Okay, _fine._ How is the attractive guy who dropped of his sperm demon at Camp Kindergarten today?” Suga fiddles with the edge of his placemat, looking away from Oikawa as much as possible. 

“He’s fine.” He says passively. 

“ _Oh,_ so you admit there IS a hot dad?”

“ _Stop it with the hot dad thing!”_ Suga’s shocked at how shrill his voice is getting, He covers his mouth, and Oikawa holds his hands up in surrender. 

“Okay, but really. How is he?” Suga laces his fingers together and starts scratching at the tops of his hands. He thinks about short cropped hair, squared off in a clean fade at the nape of his neck. He wonders how it’d feel between his fingers, trailing down the base of his neck over tanned skin and-

“Jesus.” Suga runs a hand through his hair and presses his palm to his forehead. Oikawa smirks smugly at him, and Suga has this unsatisfying need to shove his entire fist into Oikawa’s mouth. 

“Wow, you know, don’t even answer my question because your face right now has ‘thirsty slut’ written all over it. You could star in your own porno, Teachers Gone Wild III.” Suga wonders what happened to parts I and II. 

“Listen, if you’d seen Daichi, you’d have immediately climbed him like a tree and stayed up there until the hot firemen came to get you down.The difference between you and I is I have self control- nothing’s going to happen.” Oikawa just hums in response, like he’s unconvinced. 

“So his name’s _Daichi._ ” Suga slaps his hand over his mouth. 

“Oikawa, listen-”  
“ _Daichi._ Sounds like the perfect kind of name to moan in bed. A lot better than Iwaizumi; there’s nothing sexy about the name Iwaizumi, I’m sorry Iwa-chan. _Daichi~”_ Oikawa’s purring, lets Daichi’s name roll of his tongue all velvety and smooth. Suga feels his skin heat. 

“Stop that.” 

“Mmm, why? Are you thinking about it? Hm? Thinking about how it’d feel to say his name all hot and heavy? Hmm? _Daichi—!_ ” Suga whacks Oikawa on the back of the head and stands from the table. His clothes feel tight and his neck is sticking to inside of his collared shirt. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop. But really, what’s so special about Hot Dad-kun?” Suga brings the dishes (curry mostly still untouched) to the sink and starts rinsing. 

“Nothing. He’s just. He’s nice to look at, I suppose. I’m sure that’s great for his wife.” Suga feels his teeth click around the word “wife”. 

“ _Oh, is_ Suga-chan jealous?” Water splash up from the curve of the spoon Suga’s trying to wash and it wets the entire front of his shirt. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. He brought his daughter in with him, so I just assume she also has a mom, who is probably his wife. The daughter is cute, looks like him, mom’s probably good looking too.” Suga turns the sink off and sighs. He wipes his hand on the dish towel hanging from the handle on the dishwasher. “Why do I always find straight guys attractive?” 

“Because you have a type, and apparently your type is hot dads.” 

“ _Stop with the hot dad thing.”_ Oikawa holds his hands up. He stands from the kitchen table and stands in front of Suga, placing his hands on his waist. He presses his lips to his forehead and ruffles his hair. 

“Come on, Suga-chan. We both know you’re disturbingly pretty; I still get angry knowing you don’t do anything to your hair or your skin to get it to look the way it does. You know how much effort I have to put in to be this beautiful?” Oikawa sighs dramatically, running a hand through his hair. 

“So don’t let Hot Dad-kun’s boring heterosexual love life get you down. I bet they only have sex in missionary. With the lights off. Really quietly. On Wednesday nights at 9:30 after reruns of The Wire.” Suga can’t help himself; he laughs loudly and leans back on the kitchen counter. 

“At least his daughter thinks I’m pretty.” 

“ _What._ ” Suga looks up at Oikawa, face going unreadably flat. 

“When he brought his daughter in, she asked me what my name was, then immediately told me I was pretty.” Oikawa blinks. Suga blinks back. 

“And how did Hot Dad-kun react to that?” 

“He looked kind of appalled, like his mouth fell open kind of like this.” Suga lets his jaw drop. “And then tried to stutter out an apology.” Oikawa looks down at his nails with a smirk, picking at the top of his index finger with his thumb. 

“Hmm, sounds like he was upset that his daughter got to hit on you before he did.” Suga shoves him, face heating. 

“Stop it, you’re getting my gay hopes up.”

“You know, the Home Wrecking option’s still on the table. Then you’ll get a boyfriend, a daughter, _and_ I’ll get home cooked meals again.” Suga grabs a spoon from the dishwasher and points it directly at Oikawa’s chest. 

“You don’t care about my love life! This is all selfishly fueled by ulterior motives!” Oikawa feigns looking shocked, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. 

“You wound me, Suga-chan, how could you _ever_ think so negatively of me? All I want is for you to be _happy,_ and also for both of us to stop eating shit every day of our lives.” They both look into the sink, the sad remnants of left over curry running down the drain. Oikawa runs the garbage disposal, chunks of potato and onions grinding away into nothing. 

“…I guess it wouldn’t be so bad to have someone around who can cook…” It’s like Oikawa has an on switch somewhere, face lighting up instantaneously. Suga wants to shield his eyes from how bright his smile becomes. 

“Yay! Give Hot Dad-kun a chance! Oh, I really hope he can cook, because that’s gonna _real_ deal breaker if he can’t.” Suga thinks Oikawa needs to get his priorities straight; the inability to cook outweighing the con of ‘this man is probably married’ concerns Suga to no end. 

“…On one condition.” 

“Yes, honey?”

“ _Stop calling him Hot Dad-kun.”_

* * *

 

**August 28th, 1:58 AM**

He runs straight for the restroom, bolting the stall door shut behind him. Cold sweat drips down from his hairline, running along the bridge of his nose and collecting in the hollows of his throat. Shallow breaths tear from his chest, heart beating so hard against his ribs, he’s afraid the bones will crack and break. 

He starts pacing the stall in circles, hands knotting in his hair as he tries to think, but the club noise pounds through the bathroom walls, his pulse beats so loud in his throat he can taste it, he can’t think of anything but- 

The door to the bathroom swings open and slams loud. 

“Suga, I know you’re here.” Suga freezes against the stall door, holds his breath, scrunches his eyes shut. _Please go away, please go away, please-_

“I. It’s okay now. I already know. I. It’s over now, okay? I promise.”  A hand presses against the locked stall door, and Suga screams. 

* * *

 

**April 21st, 7:08 AM**

Every morning, Suga walks past a cemetery to get to work. For the first few weeks, it disturbed him; who builds a cemetery so close to an elementary school? But as the route becomes more familiar, so does the cemetery itself. The grass is always green and the flowers are always fresh and new. If Suga didn’t know any better, he might have thought the graveyard was a park. The only thing giving it away was the small funeral home in front, one single stained glass window in the shape of a cross facing the street. 

Every morning, there’d be a young boy sweeping the sidewalk outside the funeral home. There were two of them, a tall lanky one made entirely of knobly joints, and a smaller one with bleached hair, dark at the roots and always hanging in his face. The tall one would smile and wave at him in the mornings, freckled cheeks turning up in the morning sunshine. The smaller one would look up from his sweeping, stare at Suga for a second, then nervously stare down at the ground again to resume where he left off. 

Now several weeks into the school year, the cemetery’s just become an ordinary, routine part of Suga’s every day life. 

He waves good morning to the tall boy and he waves back. He’s not sweeping this morning, instead, he’s standing side by side with a short boy with wild orange hair, grasping the hand of a small girl with equally wild orange hair. The short boy is making animated gestures with his hands, and the tall one has his arms raised, as if trying to calm his smaller friend down. 

“Ah! Suga-sensei! Good morning!” The little girl turns in the older boy’s grip, arm waving excitedly in the air. Suga recognizes her immediately as Natsu, the small girl in his class very intent in becoming Umi’s friend. He knows that Umi is severely overwhelmed by Natsu’s zealous personality, but at least she tries to be friendly. 

Suga approaches the group and kneels down next to Natsu. 

“Hello there, Natsu-chan! And who’s this taking you to school this morning?” 

“My big brother, Shoyou-oniichan!” She beckons for Suga to come closer and she lowers her voice to a whisper. “Though, just between you and me, he isn’t very big, is he?” 

“Oi, Natsu, what are you saying about me?” Her older brother reaches down and ruffles Natsu’s hair playfully. He turns his attention back to Suga and smiles brightly. The two siblings look identical, big toothy grins directed right in Suga’s direction. 

“You must be Natsu’s teacher. It’s nice to meet you, I’m taking Natsu to school today since-” Shoyou cuts himself off abruptly. Suga raises a brow. “Well, some stuff came up.” 

“Ah, that’s very nice of you Shoyou-kun. Usually, your dad brings Natsu-chan around, doesn’t he?” Shoyou scratches the back of his head and looks to the funeral home keeper, like he’s asking for help. 

“Mm, well, he’s not really our dad. He’s my mom’s boyfriend, but yeah, usually he brings her to school. I guess some stuff came up with him at work, so I’m taking her instead.” Natsu starts jumping up to grab Shoyou’s hand. 

“Onii-chan, I’m hungry! Pork buns, pork buns!” Shoyou laughs, crouching down to ruffle Natsu’s hair again. 

“Alright, alright. The corner store across the street has some. But we need to hurry, or you’ll be late for school.” Shoyou stands back up and turns to Suga’s direction, bowing in this immaculately perfect 90 degree angle. Suga has the sudden urge to pull out a protractor and measure him. 

“Nice to meet you again, I promise I’ll bring Natsu to class on time.” Shoyou turns back to the funeral home keeper and lets his smile drop. 

“Oh, Yamaguchi. Don’t worry about it. It was just a joke, okay?” Yamaguchi nods slowly, lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Sure, Hinata. Let me know if you need anything.” The two siblings wave good bye and turn a corner, disappearing from sight. Suga’s left in front of the funeral home, and Yamaguchi’s returned to his regular task of sweeping the front steps. 

“Small world, huh?” he comments absently, more like he’s talking to himself than to Suga. “It feels like everyone in this town knows each other, to some degree of relationship.” He brushes some leaves into the gutter. 

“Mm, well, in a town this small, I suppose everyone crosses paths with each other at least once.” Yamaguchi’s neat pile of sweeped-up leaves blow around in a mini cyclone when a strong gust of wind dances across the sidewalk. He makes a disgruntled whining noise and gets back to sweeping. 

“It’s like everyone knows everyone, and everyone knows what everyone’s up to.” Suga stares at Yamaguchi, mumbling to himself as he tries to pile the leaves together. He looks up suddenly, dark eyes round and nervous looking. 

“O-oh! Sorry. Sometimes I talk to myself, but then people are standing nearby and they think I’m talking to them- not that I’m saying I don’t want to talk to you or- ah.” Yamaguchi scratches the back of his head, shaggy hair standing up underneath his fingers. Suga blinks a couple times and waves his hands in front of him. 

“No, no! Don’t be sorry. I see you every morning, it’s about time we talked to one another.” Yamaguchi stares back blankly for a few seconds before letting his face slip into a smile. 

“I’m Yamaguchi. Tadashi. Sorry for making your walk to work every day so glum.” Suga must give him a weird look, because Yamaguchi starts gesturing with wide arms behind him. 

“You know, the cemetery thing. A lot of the elementary school families walk all the way around us, even though it’s an extra quarter mile to go around, when it’s just a straight walk past here to the school, isn’t it?” Yamaguchi looks behind him at the funeral home, like it’s personally his fault that the cemetery was built two blocks away from an elementary school. Suga shrugs. 

“I hate waking up early, so walking past a cemetery in the morning is a small price to pay if it gets me to work faster.” Suga looks past the fence at the cleanly cut grass and colorful array of flowers at each grave. “I kind of like it anyways. It’s pretty.” Yamaguchi brightens, freckles on his cheeks rising with the spread of his grin. 

“It is, isn’t it? The thing is, we don’t get a lot of visitors, not really. I rarely see people come back to visit, so I arrange the flowers- oh, not by myself or anything. There’s a flower shop across the street and they help me out, their flowers are really gorgeous, aren’t they? The manager over there, he’s really cool, he always lets me take whatever doesn’t sell. He says it’s just because it’s a pain to have them go to waste, but really, I think he’s just trying to pretend that he’s not being nice.” Suga follows the direction of Yamaguchi’s pointed finger to a dark mauve shopfront with a white awning. The black type-writer lettering reads “ _Pushing Daisies_ ”. Suga swallows. 

“Um. That’s a. Dark name. For a flower shop.” _Especially across the street from a mortuary…_ Yamaguchi just laughs, hand coming up behind his head again. 

“Yeah, well, he’s got kind of a funny sense of humor. But if you ever need to buy flowers, he knows his stuff, he’ll set you up with just the right kind.” Suga feels like he’s been trapped into a solicitor’s sales pitch, hands going clammy at the mention of buying flowers. Yamaguchi’s looking at him expectantly, like he’s wondering if Suga _has_ anyone to buy flowers for, and _clearly_ the answer is _no, absolutely not, I do not have anyone to buy flowers for-_

Suga wonders if there’s a kind of flower that symbolizes _My Roommate Goaded Me Into This Because He Wants Someone to Cook for Us Every Day, and Also He Calls You Hot Dad-kun I Am So Sorry Oh and By the Way I’d Love to Sit on Your Thighs Thank You Have a Nice Day._

_“…._ Sensei?” Suga snaps his neck back up to look at Yamaguchi. 

“…Yes?” His hands wring the broom handle as he bites his lip. 

“Um. You’re going to be late for work. It’s almost 7:30.” Suga flinches and rolls his sleeve up, glaring with disbelief at his wristwatch. He curses under his breath, waves an awkward good bye to Yamaguchi, and runs in the direction of the school. He tells himself that _no_ , he did not look back to give the flower shop a contemplative look because honestly, that would just be ridiculous. 

Maybe later today, Suga can squeeze out Daichi’s favorite color from Umi. 

\--- 

Umi’s staring at her open backpack, arms crossed. The level of seriousness in the furrow of her brow and across her lips is admirable for a five year old girl. Suga thinks Umi might have a shot at presidency in her future, but right now, she probably has more important things to worry about. 

Like where her lunch of apple sauce and a ham and cheese sandwich with the crust cut off is. 

“Umi-chan, is something the matter?” Suga moves from his desk to crouch down beside Umi’s table. Umi puts a finger to her mouth and furrows her brow deeper. 

“I think I forgot my lunch. Or, more like Mom forgot my lunch. Usually she clips it to my bag right here.” She points to a clip fastener on the side of her backpack. “But I thought my bag was really light today.” She scratches her head and sits, contemplating her options. “Well. I guess I’ll just eat when I get home.” She shrugs and starts putting her thing away. 

Suga blinks. In college, Suga had volunteered to coach a high school volleyball team. Suga’s seen _high schoolers_ cry when they’d forgotten their lunch. Full blown snotty tears, streaming down the faces of 15 year old boys, all over forgotten lunch. And here he’s sitting now, crouched down beside a five year old girl, who’s come to rational conclusion that missing lunch will not send her into starvation mode. 

He wonders what the Sawamura family does to their kids to get them to behave like this. 

Suga’s about to stand from the table to get Umi some crackers and juice from the staff lounge when the classroom door slides open. 

“Ah, Sugawara-sensei. There’s a parent waiting at the office asking if he can come in. Is that alright with you?” Suga straightens himself and comes face to face with 166 centimeters of pure beauty and success, otherwise known as their school principal, Shimizu Kiyoko. Shimizu could all but walk past his classroom, and Suga would immediately feel a sense of inferiority and worthlessness at the just the idea of being in her presence. And now she’s standing in the doorway, hip cocked in a long pencil skirt, and Suga feels like he needs to get down on one knee and hang his head low. 

“Y-yes. That’s fine, the kids are halfway through lunch. Did he say a name?” Shimizu pushes her glasses up her nose and looks down at a note in her hand. 

“Sawamura, I think he said. Do you have a student with the same name?” Suga feels like he’s been shot. He touches his head to make sure there’s no bullet wound, presses his index and middle finger to his pulse point to make sure his heart is still beating. His mouth falls open. He checks his pulse again, and honestly, he kind of wishes he were dead. 

“Sugawara-sensei.” 

“YES. I mean. Yes. Yes I do. Sawamura Umi-chan. She forgot her lunch, so he must be here to drop it off.” _So responsible so caring why does the thought of him being a good responsible and loving parent make my-_

Suga wants someone to murder him. 

“Oh, if that’s all, I can have him just drop the lunch off at the office and you can send the daughter to pick it up. Sorry for troubling you.” Shimizu’s half way through a bow to dismiss herself before Suga spits out, 

“NO!” Shimizu blinks. Suga wishes for death again. “I-I mean. No, it’s quite alright. Please send him in, I had something I needed to ask Sawamura-san anyways.” _What the fuck no you don’t, Suga, stop it._

Shimizu stares at him for exactly four seconds. Suga thanks god that he’s unmovably gay, otherwise he may have evaporated into steam. 

“…Very well. I’ll tell him to make his way over. Good day, Sugawara-sensei.” She bows slightly and Suga falls into a perfect right angle.

When Shimizu slides the classroom door shut behind her, he immediately starts fiddling with his sweater and tie. He smooths his hair down with sweaty, clammy hands and _fuck why didn’t I stop by that weird flower shop on my way to work I’m not prepared for this oh my g-_

“Pardon the intrusion.” The classroom door slides open again and Suga’s _certain_ that he should be dead by now. 

Daichi looks good in black. The thin fabric of a slim fitting black v-neck shirt hugs his chest and biceps. Suga has to bite his tongue. Between his fingers is a paper bag with a crude sharpie drawing of three heads, two with long hair and one with short. 

“Ah. Sugaw- Suga-sensei. Good afternoon.” Suga can’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods quickly a few times. 

“Umi’s mom forgot to pack her lunch, so she sent me this panicked text while she was at work, something like _Don’t you DARE let my child go without eating lunch._ I’d rather not face her wrath, so if it’s okay?” Daichi holds up the paper bag, free hand scratching the back of his neck. 

“O-of course.” Suga coughs. “Umi’s at the other side of the classroom with the other students. Let me just-”

“What are YOU doing here??” Suga and Daichi both turn, Umi standing a few feet away with her finger out, pointing accusingly in Daichi’s direction. 

“Bringing you lunch, because Mom’ll kill me if you don’t eat?” Daichi shakes the paper bag amd Umi _rolls her eyes_ but walks towards him anyways.

“Mom’s dramatic. I woulda been okay.” She takes the paper bag from Daichi’s hands . “Thanks though. Your lunches are always better than Mom’s.” Suga feels himself start to choke. Daichi reaches down and ruffles Umi’s hair and she grins up wide. She opens the paper bag and her eyes round like dinner plates. 

“No. Way.” Daichi holds a finger up to his lips. 

“Just don’t tell Mom.” Umi starts shaking her head madly and Suga’s afraid it’s going to turn 360 degrees and snap right off her neck. 

“I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.” Daichi coughs and looks off to the side. 

“…And you have to share them with Suga-sensei too.” Suga definitely chokes this time. He sputters and looks in Daichi’s direction. His head’s still turned, and Suga get’s an appreciated view of his profile, all sturdy jaw and clean cut hairline. He thinks he sees a light flush coloring the skin above his cheekbones but really, it’s probably just the weird classroom lights or something. 

“Okay!!!” Umi’s more than happy to share…whatever it is she’s sharing. Suga blinks more times in this second than he has all day. 

“A-ah. I- that’s. That’s not necessary! Thank you for the offer, though. It’s very…sweet of you. Both. Of you.” Suga feels like _his_ head is going to turn 360 degrees and snap right off his neck. 

“Nu-uh, Suga-sensei. Eat it!” Umi’s holding up a _freshly baked chocolate chip cookie_ , chocolate still glistening in the light, melting down the side of the dough. Suga has to hold back tears. He reaches out and takes the cookie from Umi’s hand and brings it to his mouth. Umi’s looking at him expectantly, eyes round and smile pulling at the edges of lips. 

When the chocolate and soft cookie dough touches Suga’s tongue, he has to consciously hold back an inappropriate moan from spilling out from his lips. He chokes around the cookie as it slides down his throat, warm and soft like Daichi had just pulled them out of the oven before making his way to the school. 

Suga looks back at Daichi and he swears the overhead lights are casting this ethereal glowing halo around the edges of his hair. 

“…Is it that bad that you choked on it?” Daichi says, eyebrows scrunched.

“No! God, no.” Suga responds far too quickly, shaking from side to side in denial. “It was. Good choking…?” Suga can hear Oikawa howling at him from their apartment. Daichi blinks at him. Suga kind of wishes he’d choked on the cookie and died right on the spot. 

“I mean! It was excellent. Probably one of the best cookies I’ve had? Umi and her mom are very lucky to have you baking these for them.” Suga shoves the rest of the cookie into his mouth so he’ll shut the fuck up. Umi imitates him, shoving her own cookie into her mouth and chewing loudly. 

Daichi twists his face a little bit, and Suga’s completely concerned he’s offended him. He wants to rip his hair out, until the corners of Daichi’s lips twitch and split open around a deep laugh. It vibrates in Suga’s ears, low and warm and gentle and- 

“Well, Mom doesn’t like them much. So Umi and I have to keep them a secret. So if you see her around, don’t tell her I made them.” Suga manages a recovery and raises a brow. 

“Oh, so you’re bribing me with cookies to keep quiet? That’s very sneaky, Sawamura-san.” Daichi smiles and crosses his arms. 

“Do you think that badly of me? I could just be trying to be nice.” Suga smiles coyly and he _cannot_ believe he’s doing this in his _own classroom_ in front of _Daichi’s own daughter._

“Everyone always has preemptive motives, Sawamura-san.” Suga’s watch beeps at him to let him know lunch is nearly over, and he needs to start rounding up the kids again. He almost wants the to tell the kids _just go have recess for the rest of the day I don’t care just give me like an hour here with Sawamura so I can get this implanted Home Wrecking kink out of my system because my roommate is an insufferable bad influence._

“Well. Since I’m doing you a favor, let me ask something from you.” Suga doesn’t know what the _fuck_ he’s doing. Daichi blinks and Suga think he sees him swallow, sees the bob of his throat through the skin on his neck. 

“Preemptive motives, huh?” Daichi says with a lopsided grin. Suga feels part of his heart fall off. 

“We have Back to School night coming up this Thursday. Umi-chan’s a very bright kid, so I’m hanging up a lot of her work to display to families when they come in. I’m sure she’d be very happy to show you all the hard work she’s put in since school started.” Suga can’t believe he’s using Back to School night as an excuse for some pseudo-date he’s going to pretend he’s setting up. 

“So I make you cookies, then you’re trying to get me to give up a weeknight in when I could be catching up on my DVR queue?” Daichi puts his hands on his hips with mock annoyance. Suga _giggles._ He feels like he’s 16 and it’s really kind of unnerving. Daichi drops his arms back to his side and honest to god _smiles,_ warm and safe and endearing. Suga feels another part of his heart chunk off and fall to the pit of his stomach. 

“Sounds great. I’ll see you again on Thursday, Suga-san.” Suga feels himself getting giddy, but he reigns it in. He’s thoroughly impressed with himself. 

“I look forward to it, Sawamura-san. But if I see Mrs. Sawamura without you, I can’t promise I won’t let her know how _delicious_ your cookies are, and how much Umi-chan and I enjoyed them.” Daichi’s warm smile curls back into that lopsided smirk, and Suga can’t decide which he likes more. _(You shouldn’t be liking either at all! Stop! This! Immediately! What! Are you doing!)_

“Then I’ll just have to be sure to show my face, won’t I?” 

“Exactly.” 

Suga hears some clattering across the classroom, and then “YOU KNOCKED OVER MY BLOCK TOWER!” Suga sighs and shakes his head. 

“Thursday night, Sawamura-san. Don’t forget, or the cookie secret’s out.” 

“Daichi.” 

“Pardon?” Daichi scratches his head. 

“I told you on the first day of school. Daichi’s better. Don’t you remember?” _Dammit._ Suga swallows. Of course he remembers, he remembers _too_ well, but he can’t trust himself to say Daichi’s name without getting-

“…Daichi then.” It spills from his mouth airy and breathless, warm on the tip of his tongue. “Thursday night, Daichi.” 

“Thursday night, Suga-sensei.” 

 

Before Suga douses the fire of the Block Tower Feud across the classroom, he pulls out his phone and sends off one text. 

 

** Oikawa **

 

_He can cook._

 

* * *

 

**August 28th, 4:13 AM**

******Daichi**  

_i cant sleep_

_please come over_

_i dont care about getting caught i need you here_

 

_be there in 10_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOSS TO ME [@doggystylbucket ](https://twitter.com/doggystylbucket) on twitter and  @simplebitchdickgrayson  on tumblr


	3. i need a fix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> daichi thinks about pregaming back to school night, oikawa's emoji use rivals no one, and everything suga believes is a lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> while reading this over i noticed that i wrote this weird sexual tension between tsukki and daichi that i didnt mean to write, im just so into tsukki that it bleeds it everything i write and im sorry please dont read into that too much lmao 
> 
> pls excuse any typos, i finished this right before work and i wanted to get it up before I left so ill go back and edit this later!!

**_  
_ August 28th 1:29 AM **

****The sweat bleeds onto his hands, fingers clenched tight into the thin fabric of his shirt collar. The veins in his arms pop, muscles straining as his fist clenches tighter, tighter until he sees the tendons in his neck pressing against his skin and his eyes go glassy. That’s when he feels his eyelids twitch, right below the wet of his waterline and he’s-

“Asahi, Asahi, stop!” The wall cracks from impact, hard skull chipping off paint and plaster. Heavy shoulders slump down, his head lolls back, and Asahi feels himself choke. 

“Come on, we need to tell-” 

“No! _No,_ he _can’t_ know!” 

“Asahi, calm down-” Asahi brushes him aside, hands shaking, shoulders quaking. 

“Get out of here. I’ll. I’ll take care of it.” 

When he steps outside, Asahi thinks he hears the sound of sirens. 

* * *

 

**April 23rd, 11:22 AM**

When a funeral bell toll chimes when he walks in, Daichi knows he should just turn around, and walk back out. He looks up at the top of the door frame, motion-activated sensor stuck just above the door hinge. When the door falls closed, the bell tolls again and Daichi’s more than unnerved. 

The walls of the flower shop are dull gray tile, sanitary looking like the inside of a lab. If Daichi didn’t know better, he’d think that the metal tables lining the store floor looked like the autopsy tables he sees on CSI. He really should just leave, like he can just stop by the newspaper stand on the corner that sells flowers or something- 

“Sorry for your loss.” Daichi nearly kicks over a waist-height vase housing some weird dried up twigs. A kid made entirely from bones dressed in a pristine white lab coat stares at him over the edge of thick rimmed glasses. There’s something about his face, maybe it’s the way his lips look like they were sculpted to talk shit, or the way his eyes slit the slightest, like inside he’s laughing at him or something, but Daichi just feels his hands twitch with the urge to smash his face into the store counter. 

“I. Sorry?” The florist (or, Daichi assumes at least, he looks more like a coroner) blinks at Daichi like he’s stupid. 

“You’re here because someone died.” The measurable amount of empathy in the shop keeper’s voice is literally zero. 

“Uh. No?” Daichi watches as the florists’ shoulders loosen a little. 

“Oh. Well. That’s good I suppose.” He steps out from behind the counter and starts reorganizing the beakers on the shelves, taking the place for flower vases. 

“…I guess?” Daichi starts absently fiddling with a light orange flower on one of the tables. 

“Don’t do that.” He’s in front of him immediately. Daichi flinches back, drawing his arm to his side. 

“You look like you have warm hands. Flowers wilt if they get handled too much.” Daichi stares at his hands. 

“…O..kay.” Now that the shop keeper’s in front of him, Daichi can’t help but notice how disturbingly tall he is. All legs and long limbs, he towers over Daichi by almost half a foot. On the chest of his coat, his name tag reads-

“Tsukishima…Hotar-”

“Kei.” It comes out blunt and abrasive, possibly the most amount of emotion Tsukishima’s displayed since Daichi walked inside. 

“Sorry.” Daichi’s not really sorry. Tsukishima exhales out of his nose and turns back to the table behind him. 

“If no one’s dead, then is there a reason why you’re here?” Daichi pauses. Why _is_ he here? 

“…Just browsing?” He sees Tsukishima’s shoulders shake with subdued laughter. 

“No one comes in here with the intention of just browsing.” He starts gathering beakers full of flowers and bringing them to the sink behind the shop counter, dumping out the water and refilling. Tsukishima has long, thin fingers that look cold. He handles the stems of the flowers delicately, placing them back into the mouth of the beakers and setting them behind the counter. 

He looks up from the storefront suddenly and blinks at Daichi. Daichi stares back, corners of his eyes narrowing and eyebrows pulling down. 

“You look affection-starved.” Daichi lets his mouth fall open. He blinks once, twice, three times, eyelids fluttering rapidly as he stares at this asshole florist in a dumb white labcoat that makes his torso look long and his legs look even longer. Stares at this asshole florist who has the gall to call _him_ affection-starved when _he’s_ the one who owns a flower shop across the street from a mortuary and made the conscious decision to name it _Pushing Daises._

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Daichi knows how he looks when his temper rises. Tsukishima blinks a few times, flat marble-like expression cracking just a little bit. He coughs and puts himself back together. 

“Let me rephrase. You look like you’re interested in someone and don’t know what to do with it.” Daichi forces his mouth to close. _Well. He isn’t wrong._

“And people only buy flowers for two reasons. Someone’s dead, or they’re horny.” Daichi stubs his toe on the table. Tsukishima looks up at the ceiling. 

“Or is it in love? I always get those two confused.” Daichi raises an eyebrow. Tsukishima looks back at him, eyes glinting like he’s won the conversation. 

“So, am I wrong?” Daichi grits his teeth. 

“Well…” He can’t finish the sentence. Tsukishima shakes his head and mumbles something to himself.

“What is he like?” Daichi looks down at himself, wonders if it’s that easy to read that he’s incredibly, incredibly gay. 

“Uh.” _Beautiful. Like moonlight. Ethereal. Want him to grab my hair and sit on my thighs and smile at me like-_

Tsukishima hums, leaning against the store counter with his chin propped in his hand. 

He steps out from behind the register and moves towards the back corner of the shop. He pulls a glass beaker from the highest shelf, small bundle of white flowers spilling out of the mouth. 

“What are these?” Daichi takes the beaker from Tsukishima’s hands. Their fingers brush, and Daichi can confirm that they are fucking _cold._

“Corianders.” Daichi doesn’t know what the fuck that means so he isn’t sure why he asked. 

“Why these ones then?” Tsukishima starts keying in numbers on the register and Daichi, for whatever reason, pulls out his wallet. He isn’t sure why he’s paying for this verbal harassment, but the flowers are cute. Small and white and unassuming, nothing too gaudy and overbearing. 

“The meaning suits your situation.” 

“I didn’t even _tell_ you my situation.” Tsukishima pauses in keying in numbers and looks up. 

“Your face says it all.” 

“My face?” 

“Like I said, you look affection-starved.” Tsukishima points at the beaker before Daichi gets a chance to retort. “Do you want the beaker too?” Daichi pauses, stares incredulously at this irritating, smug shop keeper before shrugging his shoulders because _why the fuck not._

 

He’s halfway back home, can still hear that stupid funeral bell toll sound ringing in his ear, when he realizes he never even asked what the corianders even fucking _mean._

 

_————_

 

“Daichi, honey, I’m sorry but what _are_ those?” The neat manicure coating his mother’s fingers just makes the pointed gesture look more accusing. Daichi grabs the beaker of flowers protectively, wrapping his hand around the widest part of the glass. 

“It was _your_ idea.” 

“Yeah, I said to get Sugawara-sensei _flowers_ , not _weeds._ How old are you again? 25? Do you really need your mom telling you how to flirt with a boy?” 

“They’re _corianders._ ” Daichi’s mom squints her eyes and lets her mouth fall open. 

“Corianders.” She repeats it slowly, like she’s heard incorrectly. Daichi nods. 

“ _Corianders.”_ Spit flies off his mom’s tongue around the C and the S and lands on Daichi’s face. 

“Daichi. Corianders. Are. CILANTRO. You bought Sugawara CILANTRO.” 

They stare at each other in silence with matched intensity. Then they’re both stomping across the living room, hands on their heads, groaning into the floor boards.

The entire situation was ridiculous to begin with. No one in their right mind brings flowers to the teacher on Back to School night, unless their student is failing miserably, and Daichi’s pretty sure it’s impossible to fail kindergarten. But this morning, after dropping Umi off at school (and nearly melting the skin off his bones trying to return Suga’s cute little curled-finger wave when they’d locked eye contact on the school yard) he’d gotten a text from his mother that said- 

 

og sawamura 

_Buy him flowers._

_There’s a shop a few blocks down.  
Across from the mortuary. _

_for who_

_Do as your mother says, Daichi._

_no one buys flowers for back to school night_

_Are you in love or are you just stupid?_

_you just want to have an in-law to torture_

_I’m not worried about that. I gave birth to  
Umi, too. _

_shes 5_

_And she’s already made more moves on_

_Sugawara than you._

_fine, i’m going_

_what kind of flowers do i buy???_

_You’re a big boy, make your own choices._

 

Daichi should have never listened. He KNEW it was stupid, but he did it anyways, and now he’s standing here with nothing but his pathetic wispy little white flowers and the unfortunate knowledge that he’s going to be handing Suga a nice garnish for his Italian cooking.

“The shop keeper said the meaning suited the situation.” Daichi says it with very little conviction.

“And what’s that meaning? Make a nice salad spritzer? A pinch of this goes great in pho noodle soup? It’s literally cilantro, Daichi. _Cilantro.”_ Daichi throws his hands up in the air. 

“I get it! It’s cilantro! I won’t give them to him! Excellent! No one brings flowers on back to school night anyways!” He’s about to dump the flowers into the compost bin, but his mom’s reaching over the edge of the sink and yanking his forearm to a stop. 

“Oh no, you are _not_ backing out of your mistakes. You’re giving him your pathetic cilantro, and he’s going to see you for exactly what you are.” 

“They’re _corianders._ ” Daichi is desperate. “So he’s going to see me as an idiot who can’t even buy flowers correctly, yeah, that’s exactly what I want him to know about me.” His mother sighs heavy enough to ruffle her bangs. She starts rubbing up and down Daichi’s arm until he lets out a heavy breath and stands up straight.

“No, Daichi. You’re going to give him the cilan- corianders, and he’s going to see you as the nervous, overly-infatuated, disgustingly smitten and hopelessly endearing _loser_ you are.  And if he doesn’t fall in love with _that,_ then you need to look somewhere else.” Daichi blinks. He can’t register his mother’s comment as a compliment or an insult, so he just laughs humorlessly in response. 

“This is _hopeless._ ” 

“No, _you_ are hopeless.” 

Daichi slouches against the kitchen counter and stares at his liquor cabinet (or more like, one of the pantry shelves he’s taken to haphazardly throwing cheap alcohol into). He’s not sure if pre-gaming a Back to School night is a thing, but it’s incredibly tempting to make it a thing. 

He’s reaching for a bottle of scotch and a chipped glass when Umi comes tumbling into the kitchen in a perfect two-turned cartwheel. She lands flat on her feet, arms above her head, face twisted in the classic Sawamura grimace of sheer determination. Their mom oohs from the living room and claps eagerly, chanting for Umi to do it again, all while giving Daichi The Look that says “Back to School night pre-gaming is most certainly _not_ a thing.” He slides the bottle back into the cabinet dejectedly. 

“Are we going yet??” Umi says it in the midst of another perfect cartwheel and Daichi has to wonder why children between the ages of 5 and 7 are fascinated with the idea of turning cartwheels. Their mom kneels down on the ground and starts redoing Umi’s braided pigtails and combing through her bangs. 

“Yes, starbright. I just had to give your big brother a lecture on how to be a proper adult.” Umi grins and points an accusing finger in Daichi’s direction. 

“Ooooh, onii-chan got in trouble with Mom!” In sudden wash of complete childishness that surprises even himself, Daichi crosses his arms over his chest and turns away. 

“I didn’t even do anything wrong.” His mom grabs the beaker full of coriander and waves it in his face. 

“Cilantro, Daichi.” 

_“It was literally your idea.”_ His mom waves her hand dismissively, like she’s saying _details are irrelevant._

Daichi grabs his coat off from the back of the couch and picks his keys up from the kitchen counter. He stares at the beaker for corianders-NOT-cilantro like it’s personally offended him, like this is clearly this stupid plant’s fault for not even being a real flower. He thinks back to the beanpole florist from earlier in the day, probably getting some sick satisfaction out of having sold him a tasteful garnish to woo over his sinful crush on his sister’s Kindergarten teacher. 

“DAICHI. Hurry up or we’re leaving with out you!” 

Daichi groans. He grabs the beaker off the counter and holds it up to his face. 

“I believe in you, cilantro. Win him over for me.” 

* * *

 

**August 28th; 2:01 AM**

****“I fucked up Daichi, I fucked up _so bad, I fucked up I-”_ Suga feels like he’s clenching ice, fingers numb between Daichi’s scalding hot hands, they burn and sting and they shake so hard he thinks the bones are going to rip out from his skin. 

“Suga, _Suga,_ calm down, it’s fine. I took care of it. It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. We’re going to be. Fine.” Daichi wants to tear of his skin, he’s searing from the inside out, hot hot _hot,_ his bones feel like iron melting from the heat of his blood. He grips Suga ( _cold_ , and it slides over his skin in relief) and he says it’s fine, but on the inside his entire skeleton is rattling. 

“No, Daichi, you don’t understand, I-”

The bathroom door swings wide open and Suga sobs. 

Usually, he’s all warm sunshine straight from the core, glowing around the edges and melting frost in the morning after. But he’s standing in the door way and the glow is gone, like the moon’s eclipsed and all Daichi sees is black. 

“Daichi-san, Suga-sensei. You. You need to come outside.” 

Hinata walks away slow, bathroom door shutting behind him loud with a _CRACK!_ In the darkness with no sun, Daichi can feel the moon shake. 

* * *

 

**April 23rd, 5:12PM**

****The sinks in children’s bathrooms are extremely, _extremely_ low. Suga’s practically crouching to look into the mirror in the Kindergarten-2nd grade wing bathroom, sink not even hitting at his knees. The mirror gives a great view of his button up shirt _(“Oikawa, pale blue or grey??” “Grey, you look good in grey, it makes you look like moonlight.”)_ but not much else. He leans down, back practically in a right angle so he can peer at his reflection. He fiddles with his hair, flattening it out with his palms for it to _please_ lay flat. The cowlick on his head springs back into place and Suga almost whines. 

It’s Back to School night, so of _course_ he’s nervous. He thinks about parents looking straight down at him, thinks about the smile he’ll have to glue to his face for the entire night. Suga grins into the mirror, hard enough to make his cheeks hurt, thinks about lying through his teeth for the duration of the night, entertaining parents, ignoring the turn of their eyebrows and the wrinkle of their noses when they see _yes, I am their teacher, yes, I am twenty-five, yes, I graduated, yes, I am qualified._

Suga’s eyes go unfocused, reflection blurring until the whites of his teeth look like the moon hanging in the sky. 

It’s Back to School night, so of _course_ he’s nervous. The tip of his tongue still tastes like warm chocolate chips, and he can still feel that tingle in his chest when he thinks about dark hair and strong shoulders. 

It’s Back to School night, so of _course_ he’s nervous. 

 

 

 

Suga can’t get this _one_ painting to hang straight and he swears that Shimizu is going to fire him on the spot. He feels his brow sweating, removing the painting from the wall and restapling it in for the fourth time that night. When he stands back, it’s _still_ off center, and Suga’s ready to-

“Sugawara-sensei.” Suga nearly falls off the chair he’s standing on and smashes his face into the floor. He stumbles, but a hand’s grabbing his arm and saving him from his unfortunate death. 

“A-ah! Sugawara-sensei, please be careful!” Suga’s met with huge brown eyes that look a little glassy around the rims. Blonde hair flies around a round face and frizzes up around the crown. She releases his arm with a panicked “Sorry!” and flings herself back nearly two feet, standing directly beside-

“S-shimizu-san. Yachi-san. Good evening.” He bows awkwardly, kicking the step stool to the side with his foot. Yachi bows back, nose nearly touching the floor as her back bends forward. Shimizu remains unmoved, looking down at Suga from under the rim of her thin, pink glasses. 

“Please calm down, Sugawara-sensei.” She says it in a way that requires her to move her lips as little as possible. Shimizu tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, and maybe she can see Suga sweating or something, because her expression softens just the slightest, eyes looking more open and eyebrows relaxing. 

“Your classroom looks very nice. Well done.” Suga nearly passes out on the floor from relief. He puts the stapler down on his desk while Shimizu and Yachi walk around the classroom, getting close up with some of the student work. 

“Aww, look at this turtle!” Yachi’s pointing at a series of hiragana alphabet pages stapled to the wall. Beneath a giant hiragana “か” is a round green turtle, googly eyes pasted onto the head popping out of the shell. “かめ” is written on the bottom of the page in careful black crayon, and right below that in purple crayon reads ”さわむらうみ”. 

“Ah. Sawamura. Isn’t this the person that came in the other day, Shimizu-san?” Shimizu frowns, or at least the corners of her lips twitch a little in a way that Suga could maybe constitute as a frown. 

“Yes, her-” 

“Ah, yes!” Suga wants to clap his mouth over his hand. Inside, head-voice Suga’s yelling at him like _“YOU IDIOT don’t just react to the sound of his name like that are you literally stupid you want your boss to know you’re hot for one of your student’s dad’s??? Is that how you want to go down Suga?_

Shimizu looks at him strangely, which for Shimizu means quirking one eyebrow and pursing her lips a little bit. Suga feels himself sweat .

“A-ah, that’s Umi-chan’s work. She’s very bright, she already knew how to read before she came into class on the first day. She forgot her lunch on Tuesday, so her father brought her something to eat. Their relationship is a little bit strange though, he talks to her like she’s an adult.” Suga realizes he’s babbling, but he can’t get his mouth to close. He scratches his cheek and keeps talking. “That must be why she’s so bright, isn’t it.’ 

This time it’s Yachi looking at him weird. Her eyebrows are drawn together tight like she’s trying to piece missing information together. She tilts her head up and looks at Suga, eyes wide and round. 

“But, Sugawara-sensei, Sawamura-san isn’t-”

“Yachi-san, don’t dally. We need to go check up on the other teachers.” Shimizu’s voice is soft but curt with just enough inflection to cut the conversation off. Yachi jumps on the spot, straightens her back and turns in a full circle to follow Shimizu out the classroom door. 

Suga tilts his head to the side until his ear almost touches his shoulder. Sawamura isn’t what? 

“Please excuse us, Sugawara-sensei. Your classroom looks very nice, except one thing.” Suga flinches, straightening his neck to look Shimizu in the eye. 

“Y-yes?” She points at a vase on his desk, water turning murky green and flowers wilting over the edge. 

“The flowers are dying. Maybe you should replace them.” 

As she’s walking out of the room, Suga wonders if he has time to run down to the flower shop before Back to School night begins.

 

When families start pouring into the school, Suga has to fight the urge to retreat into the bathroom and hide in the short stalls. Pairs of parents come with their kids between them, one hand clutched in either parent’s grasp. There’s something ethereal to kids about going to school at night- Suga’s students look around the class room wide-eyed like they haven’t been walking into the room five days a week for the past month. 

Kids start directing their parents to their work hanging on the wall, giving Suga big smiles and even bigger waves. He crouches down and waves back to each one of them, smile real on his teeth. He stands up and starts greeting parents, shaking hands, answering questions that he’d rehearsed the answers to in front of the mirror _(Ah, no. I’m not a student teacher. Yes, yes I did graduate early. From Tohoku, yes. A-ah, yes. Well. I think my qualifications are valid regardless of my age. …Well, yes, experience does come with time…)_ The smile on his cheeks is starting to hurt, he can feel his jaw twitching and his expression starting to falter. 

“Umi-chan! Umi-chan! You came, you came!” Suga’s almost knocked off his feet by a blur of orange hair, skittering off towards the classroom door. He hears an _oomph_ and followed by _well yeah I’m here, I’m in your class so of course I’m here._

Natsu’s dragging Umi by her wrist into the classroom, and on the backs of her heels is-

Suga wants to slap himself. He busies his hands by picking up a piece of chalk and writing his name big and clear on the blackboard in kanji and hiragana. He dusts his hands more times than necessary and starts making himself incredibly familiar with the way the blackboard looks up close. 

“Oh my god, let up for a second will you, I will- _I will, cut it out_ \- just give me-”

“Oh no Daichi, you’re not ruining this for me.”

“Ruining this for you? What about _my_ feelings?” 

Suga’s still facing the blackboard, but he’s worried his ear is growing visibly larger as he locks onto Daichi and the person he assumes is his wife’s conversation. She looks a little bit older, maybe in her thirties, but she has an air of eternal youth in her sharp features and sturdy face. She and Daichi share the same dark hair and chocolate brown eyes, and if Suga looks close enough, he thinks they might even make some of the same expressions. They must have known each other for a long time, picking up on each other’s habits. Suga picks at his nails. 

“Mom, look! This is my turtle hanging on the wall!” Suga watches from the corner of his eye as Umi’s mom turns away from her squabbling with Daichi to address her daughter, off on the other side of the room motioning widely at her turtle. 

“Yes starbright, be right there!” She grips Daichi’s forearm and whispers something harshly into his ear. Suga watches as he flinches and scowls, and she’s gone from his side. 

Suga feels his palms getting clammier by the second. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and pecks away at the screen in panic. 

 

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ beyonce (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

_Oikawa I cant do this_

_Also stop changing your name in my phone_

_what on earth do u mean suga-chan i AM beyonce_

_ur nikki and im beyonce_

 

_Oikawa this is serious please help_

_whats wrong did u forget condoms dont do it at_

_school wtf is wrong w u_

_GOD NO why is that the first thing you assume_

_He brought his wife_

_oh_

_haha_

_rip u_

_༼ ༎ຶ ෴ ༎ຶ༽_

_Wow thanks_

_homewreckin is still an option o(^_ ▽ _^)o_

_Why did I even think youd be helpful_

 

“Uh…Suga-sensei..?” Suga nearly throws his new iPhone 6s _(rose gold Suga-chan, really? Are you a white girl? Do you want to grab Starbucks after this too and Instagram it with your new iPhone?)_ straight at the blackboard. His head snaps up and he hopes he doesn’t look as panicked as he feels. 

Daichi’s not looking at him. He’s looking somewhere down, focusing somewhere on the top of his desk, He’s clutching something behind his back, other hand scratching the back of his head sheepishly. Suga has to bite his lip because Daichi- _NO, SAWAMURA-SAN-_ is so infuriatingly adorable, somehow, despite his sturdy build, wide back muscles, and thick biceps. 

Suga swallows thickly. He slips his phone back into his pocket and feels it vibrate against his thigh. 

“Ah, Sawamura-san, you really kept your promise!” He sticks that smile back onto his face even though his cheeks are sore, eyes crinkling up so he doesn’t have to look at Daichi’s sweet, symmetrical face. 

“Of course I did- I couldn’t risk you outing me as a serial cookie enabler, could I?” Suga laughs a little bit, and in the back of his head he has Oikawa’s voice on repeat chanting _homewrecker, homewrecker, homewrecker._ He glances in Umi and her mom’s direction, mother caught in a conversation with Natsu’s step father and mother. Natsu’s running circles around Umi, waving her arms up and down, while Umi follows her movements with her head. Suga looks back at Daichi he he _swears_ is smoldering him with that stupid dick-wetting smile of his. He stares at Umi’s mom again thinking _your husband is low-key flirting with me and I’m low-key dying right now please come back and take care of this man._

“A-ah, well. I guess you couldn’t have that now, could you? You aren’t missing out on catching up on your DVR, are you?” Daichi shrugs, waiving his hand in the air. 

“I guess it can wait a couple more nights.” 

They stand in awkward silence for a little bit, Daichi staring down at the desk more and Suga staring just behind Daichi’s head. His phone buzzes against his pocket again and Suga thinks _What Would Oikawa Do._

_“Suga-chan, honey. If I were in your situation, I’d have him take me at my desk immediately, no questions asked. The married-dad thing…Well. We can deal with that later.”_

Suga shakes his head. It was a stupid thing to wonder. 

“Ow, hey!” Suga flicks his head up and Daichi’s wife is standing to his left, hand raised up against Daichi’s forehead, forefinger and thumb curled into a telltale circle. Daichi’s rubbing the center of his forehead aggressively, brows creased down in a scowl. 

“Don’t ‘hey’ me, you deserved that for making Sugawara-sensei here all awkward.” She turns to Suga and smiles. 

“Hi there, I’m Sawamura.” She looks at Daichi, then over at Umi who’s now being dragged to another part of the classroom by an over-zealous Natsu. “Well. Another Sawamura. You can call me Keiko to avoid confusion.” She sticks her hand out and Suga grips it gingerly. He’s afraid that the minute he touches her, she’ll somehow be able to read his mind and find out he’s been having lewd thoughts about her husband since the first day of class. He hopes his palm isn’t sticky. 

“Keiko-san, it’s nice to meet you, your daughter is very bright. Almost a little too bright, she’s like a tiny adult.” Keiko laughs and waves her hand in front of her. 

“You flatter too much, what are you trying to get out of me?” _A night with your husband_ is the first thought that flickers into Suga’s head. 

“Well, I’m glad at least I have one smart child. The other one on the other hand…Is an idiot.” Daichi makes some sort of insulted noise and tries to shove Keiko away. 

“Okay! Okay! Enough of this! Please go back to talking to…who were you talking to again before you got here?” Keiko makes a hand motion towards another corner of the room, where Natsu’s parents are now looking at a series of self portraits above the windows. 

Daichi stops his shoving. He’s fixed his stare on the back of Natsu’s step dad’s head, expression going unreadably flat. He pulls a hand up to his mouth and shifts his stare back down to the ground. Keiko jabs into his arm. 

“Daichi. Da-i-chi.” He doesn’t respond. She sighs and turns back to Suga. 

“Thank you for taking care of my idiot son.” Keiko bows and Suga just shakes his hands in front of him absentmindedly. 

“No, no worries, your son isn’t-” … ** _SON?!_**

****Suga stumbles into his desk, knocking over a canister of pens, all of them rolling helplessly across the floor. He stares down at them helplessly, like he can’t remember what you’re supposed to do when you spill shit all over the floor because ** _what the fuck Daichi is your SON?!!??!?_**

****So that must mean…

“Onii-chan! Whadda you doing spacing out like that? If you scowl for too long, your face is gonna be stuck like that forever you know.” 

**_ONII-CHAN!??!?_ **

Suddenly, everything makes sense. Why Umi is so rude to Daichi, why Daichi spoils her so consistently, why he and Keiko bicker incessantly and almost violently _because he’s_ ** _HER SON_** _and Umi is_ ** _HIS SISTER_** _and he is_ ** _NOT THE FATHER._**

****It feels like an episode of Jerry Springer up in Suga’s head, a crowd of 100 Oikawa’s all chanting **HE’S NOT THE FATHER, HE’S NOT THE FATHER, HE’S NOT THE FATHER-**

****Suga puts a hand against his chest because he’s breathing _really, really hard_ , his heart is literally going to jackhammer out of his ribcage, rip through all layers of muscle and tissue and end up right on the carpet of the classroom floor. Suga puts a hand over his mouth and pulls out his phone. 

 

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ beyonce (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

_eehhhh??! im always helpful!!（泣)_

_suga-chan, dont be so down, youll find another_

_not-married hot-dad kun soon!!! ⊹⋛⋋( ՞ਊ ՞)⋌⋚⊹_

_HES NOT THE FATHER_

_what?? suga-chan, its a bit early for a pregnancy scare_

_NO I MEAN HE’S NOT UMIS DAD_

_HES HER BROTHER_

_OIKAWA IM SO_

_…so he’s not hot dad-kun anymore? lame (ू˃̣̣̣̣̣̣︿˂̣̣̣̣̣̣ ू)_

_Stop it with the hot dad-kun thing or you_

_won’t get a chance to try his cooking_

_SUGA-CHAN IM SORRY PLEASE DONT_

_HOLD OUT ON MEEEE_

 

“Suga-sensei? You okay?” Suga snaps his head up from his phone, eyes wide and certainly at least a little manic looking. He makes a weak little gesture, pointing his first finger out at Daichi’s chest. 

“So you’re…not…Umi’s dad?” He looks at Keiko, who’s face has contorted into an expression of shock mixed with amusement. “And you’re…not his wife?” 

Daichi chokes. He drops the bag that he’s been holding for the last fifteen minutes onto the floor and something glass rattles around inside. His w- **MOTHER** \- howls, loud and piercing until everyone in the classroom is looking at them. Suga wants to shrink into his sweater. 

“GOD NO.” Daichi coughs out, expression looking strained and pained. “I’m her _son._ She’s my _sister.”_ He pounds on his chest and Keiko looks at him with smug amusement. “This entire time, you thought I was…” He looks over at Umi, patiently stacking a block tower with Natsu and some other classmates. 

“…Well. Yes. You never said otherwise.” Daichi coughs into his fist. 

“Uh. Well! That’s. A little bit awkward. Haha. I’m not. Haha. Yeah.” Daichi grins sheepishly again, running his hands through his hair. “I can barely fold my laundry every week, imagine if I had to take care of a kid.” 

Suga laughs back hesitantly, heat rising in his cheeks. Keiko looks between the two of them with an expression that says _mom’s intuition, mom Knows_ and Suga feels himself sweat. 

The alarm on Suga’s phone goes off, tell him it’s 7:30 and it’s time to situate all the families and let them all know their kids are passing kindergarten, yada yada, what they’ve been working on, yada yada, but all Suga wants to do is day dream about Daichi’s jawline, think about him _completely guilt free,_ because **he’s not the father.**

****It’s Suga’s turn to cough. He gives Daichi a look, glances at him from under his eyelashes, and he thinks he sees Daichi swallow.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” He says it quietly, hushed, shy, and demure. Daichi starts nodding furiously, taking a step away from the desk and settling himself against the wall on the side of the room. 

Suga closes his eyes and stares down at his desk. He inhales once, counts to three in his head; 

_One, two, three._

_He’s not the father._

“Good evening everyone! Welcome to class 1C, my name is Sugawara Koushi, and I’m your child’s Kindergarten teacher! It’s a pleasure to meet you all tonight!” 

He bows, and out of the corner of his eyes, he tries to pretend he doesn’t see Daichi staring. 

\---

Daichi’s going to be honest. He hasn’t paid attention to a _single_ thing that’s come out of Suga’s mouth. He can’t focus, it’s something about the hiragana alphabet or something, Daichi doesn’t know. It’s something mundane and school related, but honestly, Suga could recite his _grocery lists_ and Daichi would be able to get off to it, somehow. The quality of his voice, soft and wispy and just a little bit raspy at the tail ends of his sentences gets Daichi thinking all sorts of things he shouldn’t be thinking about in a school setting. 

He scratches the insides of his palms to keep himself in check. His eyes follow the excited movement of Suga’s hands, arms waving as he talks animatedly about the upcoming lesson plans for his students. His arms are long and slender, they look good with his sleeves rolled up halfway, skin pale and peppered with little brown birth marks. Daichi catches himself wondering there are birthmarks in _other_ places, but he stops himself _immediately_ because _fucking hell Daichi you’re in a SCHOOL._

Daichi starts ringing the handle of his bag, still holding onto that stupid fucking cilantro because he hadn’t worked up the nerve to give it to Suga earlier. He’s glad he hadn’t, to be honest, because if Suga had though he was Umi’s _dad_ , and his mother’s _husband_ , what kind of person would suga think he was if he’d given him flowers in front of his not-wife? 

“Next Friday, we’re having a field trip to the botanical garden just a few blocks walk from here. While we won’t need any volunteer drivers, we will need a few parent…or, at least, adult volunteers, to help escort the kids. If anyone is interested, please send me an email or talk to me later tonight before you all head out.” 

Suga turns away from the front and starts writing his mailing address on chalkboard. Daichi immediately pulls out his phone and types it into his address book. 

“Well, I think that’s all I have for you tonight. Thank you so much for coming out! In case you have any questions, feel free to stick around and I’ll do the best I can to answer it.” Suga bows and the room applauds half-heartedly. 

Daichi’s about to move back across the room but his mother’s yanking him down to ear level. 

“Volunteer for that field trip or so help me _god_ Daichi.” 

“Why are you so adamant about this???” 

“Because you’re distracted by how smitten you are with Sugawara- and now that I’ve met him, I see exactly why, he’s gorgeous and disturbingly perfect- but that’s not the point. The more distracted you are by him, the more distracted you are in general, and the more distracted you are the more likely it is that you’ll put Umi in danger, or something.” Daichi thinks it’s a total stretch, but he can’t really deny his mother. He was planning on volunteering for the field trip anyways. 

If he can get himself together enough to let Suga know, of course. 

His mom gives him a shove and Daichi walks stiffly to Suga’s desk. He’s chatting with another family, briefly giving a smile and a wave to their son before the head for the exit. He watches as Suga sighs visibly, shoulders dropping and face falling flat. 

“Heya.” Suga turns to face him, and Daichi think she sees Suga flush just the slightest bit pink. A strand of ashy hair falls in front of his face and Daichi has the urge to reach forward and tuck it behind his ear. 

“Hey there Sawa- Daichi.” Daichi smiles. “What can I do for you?” Daichi puts his free hand behind his head. 

“Well…You said you were looking for volunteers for that field trip. I work at night, so if you don’t mind-” Suga’s face _glows_ , lighting up like the moon on a clear spring night, and Daichi has to catch his breath. 

“Really? You’ll come? Oh, thank you, thank you! None of the other parents have been able to come, they all say they have work but I really think they just might be lazy. The kids are all excited about going on a field trip, but if we don’t have enough chaperones we won’t be able to go.” Suga’s hair flips around his face as he talks excitedly, wisping around his cheeks and eyes and it’s so stupidily _beautifu_ l daichi has to consciously keep himself from gawking. 

“I have. One condition though.” 

_“Anything, Daichi.”_ Daichi has to shake himself. The way Suga says it, looking up at him through thick lashes and glistening eyes, it makes his throat tighten and his chest heave. 

Hesitantly, Daichi opens up the bag and pulls out the beaker of corianders. 

“Uh. You can’t make fun of me for giving these to you.” Daichi points at the wilting flowers on Suga’s desk. “Your flowers are dying. I know these aren’t very pretty, but…” He hands Suga the beaker, along with his shame and dignity stuck to the bottom of the glass. 

Suga blinks emptily at him. 

“…Is this cilant-”

“DON’T. Say. It.” Daichi wipes his hand across his eyes and manages a smile. “If you want me to go on the field trip, you can’t make fun of them and you have to accept them.” 

He isn’t sure what Suga’s going to say. _I can’t believe you bought me cilantro_ or _How much of an idiot are you to give me cilantro_ are the top two. He doesn’t expect Suga to wrap his hand around the tiny beaker, fingers brushing against his, making his hands tingle, his arms shake, all from a little brush of skin. Suga takes the beaker from him and holds the tiny flowers to his face. 

“They’re cute. I like them. Thank you, Daichi.” Daichi wants to melt. 

“Thank you for the flowers, or thank you for coming on the field trip.” 

“Both.” Suga’s still smiling to himself as he shoves the old vase on his desk aside and replaces it with the beaker of cila- CORIANDERS. He grabs a post it note from the desk and scribbles something before returning back to Daichi. 

“Here. When you get a chance, text me and I can tell you the details of where to meet on Friday.” He holds out the bright orange post it note and Daichi takes it with delicate hands. He regards this piece of paper with the same importance and value as the Declaration of Independence itself. 

When he looks back up, Suga’s _winking_ at him and Daichi has to check to make sure his heart hasn’t stopped. 

“Now that I know you’re not married, it’s okay for me to give that to you, right?” 

Daichi’s nodding furiously, and Suga’s laughing, warm and airy and it’s all breathy in the right places. 

While Daichi’s walking home, he’s thinking about corianders, and how, if held in the right light, they might be the same color as the moon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO NOTE; the flower meaning for corianders is lust and desire LMFAOAOOOA tsukki nice!!!! also, the hiragana in the section where shimizu and yachi are looking at the student work, the first one says "KA", the next says "KAME" which is the Japanese word for turtle, and the last one says Sawamura Umi, which is Umi's name in hiragana. In kanji, her name would be 澤村海 The more you know!
> 
> fam wassup [@doggystylbucket ](https://twitter.com/doggystylbucket) on twitter and  @simplebitchdickgrayson  on tumblr


	4. express train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which bokuto is Mad Gay, hinata believes in acab, and suga gets kink shamed
> 
> in case youre wondering what oikawa's ringtone is, [ its very very real and is honestly the best thing ive ever heard in my entire life. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qZmu3gRs2ls) shout outs to kayla for sending me this and being like "this is it. its the only option"
> 
> its a tradition for me to only post updates at 4 am and not edit so again, excuse mad typos and generally bad writing

**April 24th, 1:24 AM**

“…and I was like. Feeling really shit you know? Like my mixes were just not good that night, they were honestly like sound diarrhea. So I was feeling shit and my shirt’s all sticky cause some ASSHOLE threw beer on me and almost got it ALL over my board. I get home and Akaashi’s sitting at the kitchen table and you know what he says to me?” 

No one asks Bokuto ‘what’, but he continues on anyways. 

“He says, ‘Someone looks _owl_ messed up tonight.’” Bokuto looks at Daichi and Kuroo expectantly, thick brows waxed perfectly in the shape of upside-down Nike logos. Daichi and Kuroo don’t respond, but Bokuto’s laughing enough for an entire conversation. 

“‘ _Owl messed up.’_ It was _so_ cute, okay?? It’s like 3 in the morning and he’s sitting there wrapped in his little red blanket drinking tea after getting off of work aand I know he’s tired, but he wait up for me to get home anyways, and he greeted me with a stupid owl pun _I love him guys, I totally love him._ ” 

Bokuto leans against the counter and presses his chin into the palms of his hands. He lets out an airy sigh, dreaminess washing over his dopey features. Daichi feels himself getting irritated, and _he_ kind of wants to throw beer on Bokuto so he stops reminding Daichi of how depressingly lonely and single he is. 

It’s a regular part of Daichi’s Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. Being the best bartender on staff, Daichi’s entitled to the busiest shifts, and therefore the most tips. Unfortunately for him, being the best DJ, so is Bokuto. Daichi, Bokuto, and Kuroo, known as the club’s Holy Trinity of successful A+ employees, are blessed with the opportunity to spend roughly 20 minutes of every work night discussing and complaining about what went wrong in their lives today.At around 1:30 every morning, Bokuto sticks his pre-programmed mixes onto the speakers for his break and wanders down to the bar with some new enthralling story about what his cute husband had done this time. The story usually consists of some inane, uninteresting drivel, as are most stories from love-struck newly-wed couples. 

It’s a possibility that Daichi is the only one of the three who actually talks about the wrong things going on in his life. And thus, he’s gained the right to think to himself _fuck Bokuto._

“God, just look at him, he’s perfect, isn’t he?” Bokuto’s throwing his phone across the counter, lock screen displaying a picture of Bokuto’s husband, Akaashi, curled up on a beat-up sofa with a fat tabby cat cocooned in his chest. From what Daichi has heard of Akaashi, he’s gathered the following information; 1) Akaashi, with his never-ending patience and iron will, is far too good for Bokuto, and it makes Daichi wonder what Bokuto did to woo this seemingly flawless person into _marrying_ him, and 2) Akaashi uncharacteristically enjoys owl puns. 

Daichi wonders if their entire relationship stems off of a shared mutual fascination with bad owl puns. 

“This is gay.” Kuroo puts Bokuto’s phone back down on the bar and slides it across the counter. “This is too gay for me.” Bokuto picks his phone back up and stares at the screen for a little bit longer. Daichi thinks he hears him murmur “God, I’m so gay.” 

_Same._ Daichi catches himself thinking. Absently, he wonders if he’d ever be able to have a picture of Suga napping as his lock screen. To do that, he might need to step his game up a little bit, and maybe buy actual flowers for him the next time around. 

“Nah, but it’s nice pal. At least someone here’s having a normal relationship.” Kuroo tilts his head back and knocks down a shot. He clinks the glass against the wood of the bar and Daichi refills it with water. Kuroo gives him a Look. 

“No. You’re on the clock still. You know the rules. It’s beer or nothing. I shouldn’t have even given you one shot to begin with.” Kuroo groans, pillowing his face with his arms. 

“You’re being unusually cruel today, Daichi. Do you have blue balls? Sensei-kun’s leaving you hanging, isn’t he? Isn’t that gross, Bokuto? Get a load of this guy.” Kuroo leans up and props his chin in his palm. “You know, Daichi. You always came off as very beige to me, but to think you’d have such a distinctive kink. Do you call him ‘sensei’? Does that get you going?” Daichi holds up the nozzle of his tap gun. 

“Do I need to spritz you with cold water like some sort of alley cat to get you to stop talking directly out of your ass?” Kuroo and Bokuto sneer together and make some weird, indescribable, simultaneous noise _(Oya?)_

“He didn’t deny it.” Bokuto waggles his eyebrows at Kuroo. 

“Daichi _is_ the beige one though, he told me Sensei-kun thought he was a dad.” Kuroo waggles his eyebrows back.

“Oh, so Sensei-kun is the wild one?” 

“You think he calls Daichi d-”

“ENOUGH.” Daichi smacks a tray between the two, plastic clacking hard against the surface of the bar counter. “Don’t you guys have shit to do? Other than taunting me? Like, I don’t know… your jobs?” Bokuto twirls his beer bottle in sudden silence and takes a great interest in the state of the club ceiling. Kuroo holds his hands up. 

“Hey, my break doesn’t end until the 50 mark. Sweetcheeks over here though…I’m almost 100% sure the club is getting real damn tired of hearing these awful dissonant mixes of Hotline Bling over and over again.” Bokuto spits his beer out and spews it all over Daichi’s shirt. Daichi has given up. He feels nothing. 

“HEY, HEY, HEY. It’s one thing to talk shit on _my_ mixes, but don’t you _dare_ talk shit on Drake. He Understands me.” Bokuto’s motioning with over-zealous hand movements, waving his long, thick arms around the bar and knocking every piece of glass off the counter. Daichi miraculously catches all of them before they get a chance to hit the floor and shatter. He wonders if he has the jurisdiction to throw an employee out of the club for being a disturbance at the bar. 

“Besides, it’s 1:30 in the morning. That’s like peak hour for emotional, sad, grinding to Drake songs.” Despite himself, Bokuto’s slapping bills onto the counter and getting up from his seat. 

“Bokuto, you don’t have to pay for your drink. You’re on the clock.” Daichi slides the cash back, but Bokuto’s already walking away with his bottle in hand. 

“That’s for you. Take Sensei-kun on a nice date or something.” Daichi is honestly surprised he hasn’t popped a blood vessel yet. He stares at Bokuto’s cash like it’s offended him.

“…Hey if you don’t want it, I’ll take it. Kenma wanted a new game.” Kuroo places his hand on the bar, palm up. Daichi gives him a Look, and slips the money into his apron. Kuroo pouts. 

“Stingy.” 

He lets Kuroo sip his water in silence, Daichi polishing some glasses and wiping down the surface of the bar counter. He opens his mouth to ask something, something that’s been bothering him since he got into work today, but-

He bounds into the bar with so much energy, Daichi can feel it radiating off of him like heat. He’s all bright smiles, red cheeks, and deep dimples. The worst thing is, the happiness makes Daichi worried. 

“Daichi-san! Kuroo-san! How’s the night been?” Hinata sets some order tabs down on the bar and Daichi glances at them quickly and gets to work. Hinata’s good at his job, Daichi would tell anyone that, but he doubts anyone would believe him. At least ten drinks a night end up on the club floor, and Hinata is so short, it’s easy to lose him in the crowd, even with his tray high above his head. But, what Daichi sees and what no one else knows, is Hinata moves quickly. He drops ten drinks a night, but takes three times as many orders as any other server in the club, and gets them out onto the floor just as fast. And most importantly, Hinata works hard. Too hard, disturbingly too hard. 

Daichi’s concerned, but it’s not his business to be concerned in. 

“It’s a night.” Kuroo waves his glass around, water sloshing over the edge and onto the counter. “Smells like vomit and bad cologne, Daichi’s got blue balls, and I’m still not drunk enough for this job. But what’s new?” Kuroo spins in his bar stool, head tilted back to stare up at the ceiling. 

“…Blue b-”

“Please do not ask, Hinata.” Hinata flinches, fingers tightening around the edge of his tray. Daichi forces his expression to soften. “How’s your sister?” Daichi holds up some drinks and Hinata places his tray down on the counter. 

“She’s good, she keeps asking Umi-chan to come over, but Umi-chan keeps saying no. Could you convince her, please? Natsu’s trying her best, I swear.” Hinata bounces back and forth on his feet and starts tracing patterns in the condensation collected on the glasses. “She kept trying to ask Umi-chan to come over after the field trip next week, but she just keeps saying she’ll think about it.” 

Daichi laughs, thinking about the sheer concept of trying to convince Umi to do _anything_ she’s already decided she won’t be doing. 

“I mean, it’s hard to convince Umi to do any- wait, do you mean she’ll sleep over?” Daichi pauses with a martini in hand, glass hovering in mid motion over Hinata’s tray. 

“…I mean, yeah? That’s what kids do with their friends.” Hinata takes the martini and sets it down himself. 

“…Meaning she won’t come home, and I won’t need to worry about taking care of her after the field trip?” Daichi sort of says it to himself, but Hinata’s still listening, hands stilling over the other glasses Daichi’s offering to him. 

“…I guess so, yeah. I’ll pick them both up and walk them home. And you or your mom can come get Umi-chan in the morning.” 

Daichi’s head is spinning with possibilities. He could take Sugawara out on a _date._ Like a real date, not a _I chaperoned my little sister’s field trip so I could stand next to you and look at your pretty face and maybe hold your hand or something_ date. Get a reservation at that nice Italian place a few blocks away from the club; or no, maybe that’d be too ostentatious for a first date…maybe the dive bar on the corner near the flower shop….what if Sugawara doesn’t like to drink? Oh god, what if Sugawara _doesn’t like to drink_? Can you date a bartender if you don’t like to drink? Daichi doesn’t know if _he_ can date someone who doesn’t like to drink…

Daichi’s mulling over whether Sugawara saying “Drinking isn’t really for me” would be a deal breaker, even with his pretty face, long legs, and velvety voice when Kuroo mumbles “Ah, shit.” 

A uniform parts a crowd. All black with a glint of gold on the chest, Daichi watches as the dance floor splits in two, and an unfamiliar face stops in front of his bar. He’s all height, long legs carrying a narrow torso, Daichi might almost call him scrawny. But it’s the way his face is cut, deep scowl carved into his features like they’re made from stone. The way he moves is sharp, deliberate, and it’s even got Kuroo straightening his spine and wiping his palms on his jeans. Hinata’s fidgeting nervously at the edge of the counter, tray rattling around in his fingers. He starts to slip away, disappear into the body of the crowd, but the officer whips his head, stares directly at him, and Hinata freezes. 

“Stay where you are.” Daichi watches as Hinata visibly swallows, but does as he’s told. 

“Can I help you, officer?” Daichi crosses his arms across his apron, putting on a stern, straight face. “I prefer disciplining my own employees, thank you.” The officer is still looking at Hinata, scowl cutting even deeper into his brows. 

“So he’s your employee?” The officer gives Hinata a glance over. Hinata bites his lip. 

“He’s my bar-hand, yes. Is there a problem, officer?” He finally looks away and turns to Daichi. 

“No, sir. He just looked young. We’ve heard word that minors have been reportedly using this club as a major gathering ground. There’s been a spike in underaged drunk driving accidents in the recent months. And well. He’s very small.” Hinata makes a disgruntled noise from the other end of the bar, but Daichi puts a hand up. 

“I’m sorry, officer, but we don’t tolerate minors at the club. I know my bouncer well, he keeps all the kids out. As for me, I card all my guests. And don’t get me started on fakes.” Daichi picks up a glass and starts to polish the rim. “Can I help you with anything else? As you can see, my bar-hand’s got a full tray and I have more orders to fill.” The officer pulls his lips between his teeth and presses them into a tight line. Daichi barely blinks. 

“We’ll be keeping an eye out. You have any trouble, don’t hesitate to reach out.” The officer reaches into his pocket and places a card on the bar counter. 

 

KAGEYAMA TOBIO 

MIYAGI POLICE FORCE  
+81 22-221-7171

 

Daichi slides the card off the bar and tucks it into his apron. 

“We’ll be alright. Thank you for your time.” 

Kageyama blinks, and the way his expression softens takes Daichi off guard. The scowl drops, the tension in his face dissipates into nothing. He almost looks like a child. 

He bows awkwardly, stays down for a little bit too long, and turns on his heel to walk stiffly out of the club. The crowd parts for him again, the power of his uniform pushing bodies apart. 

Beside Daichi, Kuroo lets out a breath. 

“Don’t the cops have better shit to do than chase kids?” Daichi opens his mouth to respond, but Hinata beats him to it. 

“Cops never have anything better to do.” He rolls his eyes and readjusts his grip on his tray. “Other than make jokes about me being short, I guess. God! He can piss off. Jesus.” And he’s off, muttering to himself about not even being that short, tray held high above his head as he weaves through bodies in the crowd. 

Kuroo stands from the bar, hands on his lower back to work a crick out of his spine. 

“With opinions like that, kid’s gonna get himself shot.” Daichi shakes his head and pours some whisky into a glass.

“You gonna tell me he’s wrong?” Kuroo laughs, dry and humorless. 

“Honey, I’m a stripper. I’m the last kinda person cops wanna keep safe.” Kuroo stares at the whisky in Daichi’s hand. He waggles his eyebrows, and Daichi rolls his eyes, but he pushes the glass across the counter anyways. 

“Right move. I won’t let Officer Kageyama know you lied about not letting minors into the bar.” Daichi turns away, filling up a pitcher with beer. 

“I’m not lying. He’s not a minor.” 

“He’s 19.” 

“You only need to be 18 to bartend.” 

“Daichi.” 

“Kuroo.” Kuroo clacks the glass back down on the bar, empty. 

“Why’d you take him in, Daichi?” Daichi looks off into the crowd, spots that wild orange hair zipping past tables, filling order tabs, smiling bright and wide with a laugh at the end of every word. 

Nothing like the kid Daichi had on the backs of his heels, chasing him out the doors of the club, wet from the rain.

Daichi puts a hand on his chest. 

“Because I’m _always_ this kind, Kuroo.” 

Kuroo balls up a napkin and throws it at him. 

 

* * *

 

**January 13th, 3:17AM**

“Come on, please!” 

“Go home, kid.” 

Splash of puddles from behind. Kid’s feet are probably soaked through his socks.

“I won’t. Until you give me a chance.” 

“Your mom’s probably worried about you.” 

“It’s the other way around.” 

It’s wet out. Kid’s not crying, it’s probably just the rain. 

* * *

 

**May 1st, 6:49 AM**

Everything’s going fine until Oikawa’s phone rings at a deafening decibel, blaring a combination of the original Mii Channel theme and the innocuous repetition of the phrase BOOTY BOOTY BOOTY BOOTY, ROCKIN’ EVERYWHERE. Suga just stares, watches as Oikawa grinds in the air to the beat of a song he’d spent hours listening to on loop while painstakingly trying to create Miis identical to himself and other friends. He gives it a few seconds until he picks up the receiver and says; 

“Aww, Iwa-chan! Did you miss me so much you had to call me first thing in the morning?” For some reason, it makes complete sense to Suga that this ass-dropping remix of a simple Nintendo background track is Oikawa’s default ringtone for Iwaizumi. 

Suga can hear Iwaizumi barking at Oikawa on the other end of the line. Oikawa’s face drops from smug and playful to serious in less than a few seconds. 

“Yeah, no. I understand. It’s okay. Yeah. Sure. I’m already dressed. No, it’s okay, don’t apologize. It freaks me out when you’re nice to me.” Suga’s eyes follow Oikawa’s stride as he shrugs his jacket back off and crosses the apartment to his bedroom. He hears Oikawa chuckle lightly into the phone and the ruffling of heavy clothing. 

“Suga-chan’s gonna be upset- what? No! He doesn’t hate you? Suga-chan can’t hate anyone…He watches _children_ for a living, for god’s sake. Yeah, I’ll say sorry for you. See you in a bit.” 

There’s the dull sound of Oikawa tossing his phone on the bed and the clicking of his utility belt. Suga pales. His hand’s already hovering above the door knob, they were almost out of the house…

“Oikawa…” Suga’s holding the edge of Oikawa’s doorframe like a child peering into his parent’s bedroom after waking up from a nightmare. To confirm his horror, Oikawa’s suiting up, buttoning the top of his uniform and fastening his badge to his chest. 

“…Sorry honey.” Oikawa’s lips pout out as he bends down to lace up his boots. Suga puts his fists in his hair and thinks he can feel his body temperature drop at least five degrees. 

“Oh my god, what am I going to do? You were supposed to be there for my moral support…Make sure I don’t do anything stupid, stay focused on taking care of the kids instead of getting distracted by-”

“By Hot Dad-kun, yes, I know.” Oikawa finishes lacing his shoes and stands up from his bed. He puts both his hands on Suga’s shoulders. Suga frowns, deep, puppy-faced, and hurt. “But Iwa-chan said there’s some ongoing investigation that was out of my division that they need extra help with.” Oikawa mutters something about the other sector and getting their shit together. 

“Well, _I’m_ in an ongoing state of _crisis,_ and _I_ need extra help dealing with it!” Oikawa laughs, brushing a strand of Suga’s hair behind his ear. Suga’s frown deepens. 

“And your crisis is higher priority than the law?” 

“Oh, absolutely.” Suga says it with no hesitation. They both walk towards the front of the apartment and shrug on jackets. Oikawa locks the door behind them and they start down the steps together. 

“It’ll be fine. Keep the flirting G rated. Hand brushes, lingering touches, longing gazes, all fair game. Nothing below the waist until 2:30 and all the boogers are on their way home to their respective dwellings.” They reach the lobby and Suga is Not Ready to face The Field Trip Date without moral support. He tugs on Oikawa’s sleeve with a silent _please, god, I don’t trust myself, now that I know the truth I’ve lost all semblance of self restraint._ Oikawa looks at him with a pang of pity. 

“Just to let you know, I probably won’t be home tonight. If Iwa-chan bothered to call me in on my day off- which he never does, because I quote ‘I will beat you into a concussion if you don’t go home on your days off and sleep’- then that must mean there’s a shit ton of stuff I have to get done. Which probably means Iwa-chan and I are sleeping at our desks tonight.” Suga blinks twice. Oikawa sighs. 

“ _So,_ the apartment will be _entirely empty, without disturbance_ for the entire night. If someone were to bring a guest home, well, I wouldn’t know, would I?” Suga flushes, gains back the body temperature he’d lost earlier and adds on an extra ten degrees or so. 

Oikawa claps him on the shoulder before turning away to walk in the opposite direction. 

“Remember, just hold out until 2:30, and he’s all yours.” 

Suga walks to work, alone, with the Mii Channel theme song stuck in his head, and a rapidly increasing death wish. 

 

 

“Suga-sensei, what kind of flowers are these? They look kind of lame.” Suga bends down, following the pointed finger of one of his students. Despite himself, Suga giggles. 

“…These are corianders.” From his left side, Suga hears Daichi cough. He turns to look at him, and Umi’s thumping him on the back and holding up a bottle of water. 

“They used to be cilantro, but if you don’t pick it fast enough, they bloom into flowers.” 

“Cilantro? That’s the stuff my mom puts in sandwiches. Lame, I wanna go look at the bigger flowers! The bright red ones, over there!” She takes off running to the opposite end of the garden, where another parent is stationed to help students fill out their journals for the field trip. 

Suga wanders over to Daichi’s side, stationed near the Magnolia collection. A few students are sitting cross legged in the dirt, adeptly sketching the flowers with big, chubby crayons and thick markers. 

“Even the kids know my flowers were lame.” Daichi crosses his arms over his chest. Suga comes to the realization that Daichi is _pouting,_ which is so disgustingly endearing, it makes Suga’s skin prickle. 

“I’ll never let it go!” Suga pokes Daichi in the side and puts on a triumphant smile. Daichi makes a noise that’s some sort of combination between a grunt and whine and swats Suga’s hands away. 

“Oh? So you’re implying there will be times in the future where you’ll get a chance to tease me about my poor flower choices?” Suga looks down at his feet sheepishly, tracing a circle in the dirt with the toe of his shoe. 

“I’d _hate_ it if someone else became the victim of your flower giving prowess.” 

“You _wound_ me, Suga-sensei.” Suga finds himself blushing, like a virgin schoolgirl (in the back of his mind, Oikawa is _cackling_ at the concept- _hahaha, Suga, a virgin! Rich! It’s so very rich!)._ He looks up at Daichi from beneath his eyelashes, and Daichi’s looking away from him, head turned up at the sky with the slightest flush dusting the bridge of his nose. 

The mutual smittenness is something he hasn’t felt since…well. Ever. High school hadn’t exactly been the ideal time for budding romance, and university left Suga with a lot of semen stains in his sheets, but not much warmth in his heart. And as for Oikawa, they’d skipped past the smitten stage and dove directly into platonic handjobs, deciding together, laying ass-naked side by side in a cramped dorm-sized bed, that they were much better suited as platonic life partners than anything else.

Besides, Suga would never admit this to Oikawa’s face, but Oikawa gave less-than-subpar handjobs, which was a secret he’d take to his grave. 

So, the fuzz clouding Suga’s head, the rosy tone creeping up on his cheeks, the bashful nudging when their shoulders bumped, it was all completely foreign to Suga, a 25 year old who had never been smitten with anyone. 

It’s fun, he’s come to learn, when Daichi’s fingers tickle the inside of his palm as they lead the kids out of the garden. Daichi leads the front of one line, holding Umi’s hand as half the class follows her single file. Suga stands beside him, holding Natsu’s hand as she leads the other half of the class behind her. There’s an acceptable distance placed between them, about two hands-widths that keep their skin from brushing. But Daichi teases that space more than once, bumping Suga’s free hand with his, fingers brushing against his knuckles. Daichi doesn’t look at him, but Suga can see the faint smile tickling the edges of his lips. 

Suga’s never been smitten with anyone before, but he likes the warmth of Daichi’s hand, likes the smile on his face, and the pink flush on his cheeks. He’s 25 years old, and maybe it’s time to let himself be. 

They interlock fingers, just enough that they can feel each other’s skin. It’s funny, Suga feels like a kid again, hoping he won’t get caught. 

 

 

Suga feels blessed when Daichi asks first and he just breathes a sigh of relief. 

Because he takes a moment to breathe, he realizes he’s actually hesitated in answering the question, and Daich’s now breaking into an awkward, stiff-faced expression, all laced in cold sweat. 

“U-uh. Sorry! That was kind of forward, maybe another-” Daichi’s stammering through his teeth, waving his hands in front of him dismissively. 

“Oh! Oh, god. No. I mean! Yes, I would love to grab dinner. Sorry- I was just.” Suga exhales and twiddles his thumbs. “I’ll be honest- I was really nervous all day, thinking about how to ask you if you wanted to do something after the field trip. But you asked for me, and I was just so relieved I answered you in my head and not out loud.” Daichi stares at him and blinks twice. Suga’s slightly concerned Daichi’s going to rescind the invitation to dinner. 

Instead, Daichi laughs. Suga wants to hear more of it. 

“Wow. We’re kinda bad at this aren’t we?” Daichi smiles, lopsided and smoldering, and Suga wonders how long he’ll have to date Daichi to not have it affect him. 

“It happens when your relationship starts out with you thinking you’re being scandalized by a student’s father.” 

“Of course. Instead, you’re being scandalized by a student’s brother.” 

“Oh, so you admit to scandalizing me?” 

“When you look like that, it’s hard not to.” 

Suga shuts his mouth. Daichi shuts his, too. They both stop walking and stare at each other, blank faced. 

“Oh.” It’s all Suga can think of saying. He hunches his shoulders so the collar of his jacket rises up over his face, concealing the absolutely shocking red color his skin must be turning. 

“Wow.” Daichi says it like he’s shocked himself. “I take it back. _We’re_ not bad at this. _I_ am.” Suga fiddles with the end of his sleeves, finding he has no idea where to look. 

“…I don’t mind.” 

“ _I_ mind. That was so gross, I’m so sorry, that’s not really how I am, seriously-” Suga puts his hand up and puts on his best smile. Which isn’t hard, honestly, with the way Daichi’s looking at him, honestly apologetic and regretful. 

“I don’t mind being scandalized, if it’s by you.” And Suga starts walking again, leaving Daichi in the street behind him, staring with his mouth half open. 

“Are you taking me for dinner, or not?” 

 

They end up at a little izakaya in the heart of the downtown area. Or what could be considered Miyagi’s downtown area. It’s a few blocks of small restaurants and mom-and-pop shops, all centered around the town square, which consists of a small fountain that hasn’t had water in it since 2005, and a single bench under a single cherry blossom tree. Suga thinks it’s endearing.

They’re sitting at a small booth made for two. The atmosphere of the restaurant is nice, dim and intimate, with candle lit tables and hanging overhead lights. The bar’s crowded with business men in suits, celebrating what sounds like the completion of an extended project. They chant jovially, and every chant is paired with the sound of glass smacking down on the counter top. The noise is welcoming, feels homey and relaxed. 

Except Daichi’s watching him flip through the menu with such intensity, Suga is worried his eyes are ready to leap directly out of his eye sockets and onto the dinner table. 

When Suga stops to look at the cocktail menu, Daichi visibly relaxes. 

“Oh thank god.” Suga raises an eyebrow. 

“What?” 

“I’ve been an anxious mess for the last 36 hours because I wasn’t sure if you liked drinking or not.” 

Suga can’t help it. He bursts out howling. 

“ _Like_ drinking? Oh, Daichi, _honey._ ” It’s all he needs to say to get Daichi to relax into his side of the booth, grin spreading across his teeth. 

 

Suga learns Daichi’s the head bartender at The Dirty Diamond, a gay stripclub in the warehouse district at the edge of town. Suga wolf whistles, leaning an elbow on the table and propping his chin in his palm. 

“So, I guess you’re used to getting flirted with then?” Daichi snorts and sips at his bourbon. Suga can smell it from where he’s sitting, alcohol content nearly frying off his eyebrows. 

“That’s kinda gross. The club’s like family, it’s like hitting on your cousin.” Daichi sticks his tongue out and Suga giggles from behind his expensive umeshu. 

“Well, that’s good to hear. No one I have to compete with.”

“No one could compete with you, period.” 

Maybe it’s the alcohol that’s slowly made its way into both their systems, or the heavy, satisfying weight of food settling in the bottom of their stomachs, but the high octane flirting’s become less flustering and more suggestive. Suga’s grin widens sloppily, lips curling around the edge of his glass. Daichi returns it, goes back to that smoldering crooked smile, but instead of turning away to flush, Suga leans forward, kicking his leg to nudge against Daichi’s shin. 

Suga reaches a hand across the table and trails a finger up Daichi’s forearm. He feels the muscles tense beneath his hand, and that gets the hairs on the back of Suga’s neck prickling with anticipation. He watches Daichi flex his fingers, tendons popping out from beneath the tanned skin. Suga bites his lip. 

He isn’t sure what the fuck he’s doing. Suga’s never considered whether or not he’s a fuck-on-the-first-date kind of person. He’d never had the chance to. It had always been unmemorable, subpar sex in the dark on a creaky, dorm room bed. They’d be gone in the morning, without even an exchanged name. 

But when Daichi turns Suga’s palm over, wraps his thick fingers around Suga’s pale, narrow wrist, all he can think of is dragging Daichi home, shoulder to shoulder on the cold streets after dark, and stumbling through the apartment door with hands connected, lips brushing, skin heating-

A waitress brings them their bill and looks positively scandalized. They leap apart like they’ve been electrocuted, Suga sinking into his side of the booth self consciously. He finishes the last drip of his umeshu and clinks the glass down. In his moment of self-realization, though, Daichi’s slipped his card onto the bill tray and handed it back to the server. 

“Hey! We agreed on splitting!” Suga points an accusing finger at Daichi’s outstretched hand, holding the bill out to the poor waitress who probably doesn’t get tipped enough to deal with horny queer couples. 

“Mmm. I lied.” Daichi says it simply, hands the bill off, and the waitress disappears quickly. Suga suddenly feels terrible for his ostentatious taste in alcohol. His drinks alone were probably half the tab. 

“Besides, if I pay this time, you’ll feel obligated to return the favor and go out with me again.” Suga lets both his brows disappear beneath his bangs. 

“Oh? So you’re blackmailing me into another date?” 

“Why do you think so negatively of me?” Daichi feigns an appalled expression, placing his hand over his chest. 

“Only because this is the _second_ time you’ve lied to me, and we aren’t even finished with our first date.” 

“Hey, I didn’t lie to you about being Umi’s dad. You came to that conclusion all on your own.” Daichi tips his glass back and finishes his bourbon. He exhales and Suga can smell the musky scent of the alcohol coloring his breath. He feels himself go half lidded. 

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Seemed too good to be true when you walked into my classroom that you’d be single.” 

The waitress returns with the bill and Suga has to lean back again when she returns. Suddenly, Daichi looks so far away, squinting down at the check in the dim light trying to make sense of the tip. 

“I feel so bad for her.” Daichi mumbles it under his breath so the waitress can’t hear. “We’re making her put up with us and our litany of pent up flirting.” 

“Give her 30%.” Daichi juts his jaw out. 

“I’m a bartender, not a sugar daddy.” Suga nearly chokes. 

“Oh. I got my hopes up for nothing.” He feigns a look of disappointment, which is worth the paleness the crosses Daichi’s features. Suga breaks out into a goofy grin, lips quivering with suppressed laughter around his teeth. Daichi sighs into his hands and finishes filling out the check. 

“Wow, first date and I already have to kink-shame you.” 

Suga’s not sure what would constitute as a successful first date, but he’s broken into tear-induced laughter twice tonight, so he guesses this one’s not so bad.

 

When they hit the train station, they stand side by side awkwardly, back to shifty eyes and light flushing. They aren’t sure where the night’s supposed to end, Daichi’s hand on the small of Suga’s back as they wait on the train platform in the cold spring air. Suga’s back to tugging on the ends of his sleeves. He inhales. Daichi broke the awkward first question of the evening, so he supposes it’s his turn to ask this time. 

“….My roommate isn’t going to be in tonight. If you…wanted to come over for drinks…he’s got an unopened bottle of whisky. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we had a glass or two.” 

Daichi doesn’t respond right away, stares straight ahead into the train tracks.

“A-ah. Now I’m the one who’s being too forward. Haha. Awkward.” Suga tries to take a step to the side, free up some space between them. But Daichi pulls him back, shifts his hold to the dip of Suga’s waist, and looks at him with an unreadable expression. 

“I was just thinking about how I was thankful that I set my DVR to record all my shows I’d be missing tonight.”Suga stares at Daichi in complete silence. He gives it a few moments before punching Daichi in the shoulder. 

“Loser.” 

They’re off the train together, and Suga’s dragging Daichi home, shoulder to shoulder on the cold streets after dark.

* * *

 

**August 28th, 5:03 AM**

His hand shakes. He can feel his throat bob beneath his skin, feel every breath, every swallow, right there at the tips of his fingers. Whenever they do this, it’s hot, so hot, Daichi always feels like he’s about to erupt. But right now, they shiver, together, and no matter how many sheets they crawl under, no matter how closely they press together, nothing will keep them warm anymore. 

“Do it, Daichi.” 

“Suga, I-”

“Daichi, _please._ ”

“I _can’t,_ Suga, what if I-” Daichi strokes his thumb along the side of Suga’s neck, feels Suga’s pulse against his skin. 

“Make me feel alive, Daichi. Remind me.” 

Daichi swallows. And Suga swallows, too, against the inside of Daichi’s palm as he squeezes, tight, pressing kisses along Suga’s hairline. And when he lets go, he just listens, listens to Suga breathing, in, and out, in, and out. 

_I’m alive._

_You’re alive._

_We’re alive._

* * *

 

**May 1st, 10:12 PM**

Suga promised him whisky. They didn’t even get to open the fucking bottle. 

Ordinarily, Daichi would be disappointed if he was promised good whisky just to be let down. But Suga’s letting him lick into his mouth, lithe, narrow frame pressed up against his apartment door while he fumbles with his keys. 

They break apart with loud, heaving breaths so Suga can stick his key in the lock. It creaks open like the door’s laughing at the two of them, and Suga’s dragging Daichi inside by the arm. 

The door swings closed behind them and Daichi hears the lock click. He doesn’t even get a chance to toe off his shoes before Suga’s pushing him across the kitchen and into the counter. 

Yeah, Daichi’s not so upset about the whisky anymore. 

He isn’t sure where to touch first, what he’s allowed to touch. Honestly, he felt lucky to just be able to _look_ at Suga, pretty brown eyes, pointy, elfish features, it’s got Daichi ten different levels of flustered that he’s able to _touch_ now, too. 

Suga, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have the same hesitation problem. His hands are everywhere, palms roaming up the expanses of Daichi’s chest, tickling the short hairs at the nape of his neck, pressing into the line of his jaw; saying he’s overwhelmed is the understatement of the year. 

For a short second, Daichi panics. He can’t even remember the last time he touched someone, so completely overwhelmed with work, with moving, with more work, taking care of his Mom, taking care of Umi, jesus, does he even _remember_ how to have sex?

It suddenly occurs to him Suga’s his first sexual encounter since he moved back to Miyagi, and dear _god,_ is he really going to fuck up the chance he never thought he’d have because he _forgot how to have sex?_

And then Suga whines, hands tightening behind Daichi’s neck. Daichi looks down, and Suga looks up at him, pupils blown so wide they’ve eclipsed his irises. His lips are smeared pink, flushed and glistening in the little light reflecting from all the kitchen appliances. And then his tongue darts out, wets along the swell of his bottom lip, and Daichi remembers. 

He grabs at Suga’s hips, thumbs catching on the waistband of his slacks. Lips curl up into a smirk against Daichi’s mouth and a laugh bubbles out on the tip of Suga’s tongue. 

“I was getting worried for a second. Thought you were having second thoughts.” Daichi returns the laughter, running his hands up the curve of Suga’s waist and over the swell of his hips. The shape it ghosts against Daichi’s hands is almost enough for him to voice a groan, embarrassingly enough. 

“Not even close. I was thinking about how you look too good, and how I haven’t done this in way too long.” Daichi leans down, pressing teeth against the side of Suga’s pale, immaculate neck. He feels the shiver crawl down his skin, and Daichi wonders if things can _feel_ beautiful. 

“Makes two of us. Maybe we’re getting old.” Daichi sucks, drawing skin between his lips, and Suga whimpers. 

“Mmm. Dunno. Groping against the kitchen counter’s pretty juvenile. Gives me university flashbacks.” He drags the flat of his tongue up the protruding vein in Suga’s neck, drawing a throaty moan out of pretty, wet lips. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right- sex on the first date is pretty university feeling too, isn’t it?” Suga pulls back and tucks a hand under Daichi’s chin, craning his neck back so he can bite at Daichi’s collar bone. He hisses, eyelids fluttering against his cheekbones. 

“Not a bad feeling, though.” He untucks Suga’s button up from the waistband of his pants, crinkling the pristinely ironed fabric beneath his fingers. He runs his thumbs up the cut of Suga’s hip bones, and Daichi feels him rut against his hands. 

“Nn- not at all.” Suga’s breath is getting labored, impatient sounding, as he presses their bodies even closer, hips puzzle-piecing together as they rock against the cold kitchen counter. Daichi runs his hands up Suga’s shirt, curling between the impression of his ribs, over his chest, rolling his nipples between his fingers, he’s overwhelmed, yeah, but it’s _amazing._

Suga’s melting on top of him, mewling gorgeously like he _knows_ he looks good. He probably _does_ know; if Daichi looked like Suga, jesus, he’d know damn well he looked good. 

“We’ve agonized long enough, haven’t we?” Daichi mumbles into Suga’s ear, nipping at the shell. Suga groans, voice laced with impatience. 

“God, _yes,_ thinking you were a dad was _torturous_ to my mental health.” He pulls apart for a brief moment to start fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. They slip through the holes with practiced ease, and the fabric’s slipping down sharp, defined shoulders, collecting in the crook of his arms. 

“God.” is all Daichi has to say. Suga’s skin, even in the shit light casting in from the streetlights outside, glows _just_ like moonlight. He can make out speckles of moles here and there, dusting the curve of his shoulders, along the sides of his ribcage, over the flush of his hips. Daichi finds himself licking his lips. He wants a taste, wants to bite, wants to- 

“You’re making me self conscious, cut that out.” Suga winds an arm around himself, brushing his hair nervously away from his face.  


“That’s ridiculous.” Daichi blurts it out without thinking, because what the _fuck_ would Suga have to be self conscious for? He feels utterly beige standing beneath him, all square and simple looking beneath this ethereal, glowing personification of moonlit nights. Suga raises an eyebrow, disappearing beneath his bangs. 

“Have you looked at yourself, Daichi? It’s like being surveyed by a bodybuilder.” Daichi fucking chokes. He laughs, and it’s so ugly, so unattractive, but he can’t help it, because _what._

“You’re hilarious.” 

“No, seriously, I think I could sit on your bicep comfortably and not fall off.” To accentuate this point, Suga trails his hand down Daichi’s arm, and he subconsciously flexes. Suga hums, and Daichi flushes. 

“…I mean. When all you do is work and sleep, you end up spending a lot of time at the gym.” Suga’s lips curl into a horrifyingly, devious smirk, and Daichi feels that he has every right to be concerned. 

“Did you _very, very_ well, then. Hopefully you can fit me into that busy schedule.” Suga’s hands trail down, past his chest, down his stomach and along his thighs. He presses in with his thumbs, and Daichi cranes his neck so far back, his head’s knocking into the kitchen cabinet. 

“Your thighs are like two of mine…” Suga says it kind of quietly, like he’s trying to keep it to himself. But Daichi hears it, definitely hears it, and he continues to flush. 

“—between them.” Daichi lost the first half of the sentence. 

“Sorry, what?” 

Suga glances up at him, looks at him from beneath those thick, sooty lashes, thick like a doe. Daichi feels his breath catch. 

“I want my head between them.” 

_Jesus._

Suga promised him whisky. Daichi’s long forgotten about it now, with Suga trailing his fingers down the front of Daichi’s pants, sinking lower, lower, lower, until his knees are against the cold kitchen tile. His shirt’s still hanging from the crooks of his elbows, wrinkled beautifully around that slender frame. It’s like something out of a quality wet dream, it’s too surreal to actually be happening, Suga can’t be real, he- 

He’s unlatching Daichi’s belt, metal clinking loudly as the leather whips out from between the loops. He feels fingers on the button of his jeans, pressure digging into his stomach as Suga pops it out from the hole. When he hears the teeth of the zipper click apart, feels Suga’s breaths against the front of his boxers, Daichi knows it’s not just some wet dream. 

Suga’s too good for that. 

Thumbs curl into the elastic waistband of his underwear, and Daichi’s motionless in shock, saying silent prayers in the back of his mind, everything’s too good to be true, beauty personified on his knees in front of him, peeling his jeans down his thighs, _god._

It’s really not Daichi’s fault that he’s embarrassingly hard when Suga frees him from his pants, nearing full stiffness just from Suga existing. When Daichi looks down, Suga looks immensely pleased with himself. 

“Wow.” Now it’s Daichi’s turn to feel self conscious. How can he not? Suga’s just sitting there, on his knees, surveying his dick. 

“…Uh, sorry. You’re kinda…” Daichi makes a vague, round gesture with his hands that’s supposed to symbolize “a lot”. 

“No, _you’re_ kinda.” is Suga’s response. Daichi doesn’t have the chance to ask him what that means, because Suga’s leaning in, lips parting, mouth warm, tongue wet, eyes shining. 

_“Jesus.”_ Daichi’s hands hover idly above Suga’s head, not sure what to do with them, if burying them in his soft, moon-colored hair, is a little too much or something. Suga pulls off, one hand wrapped around the base of his dick, and winks up at him. 

“No, Daichi. My name’s Suga.” Daichi groans, throws his arm over his eyes and Suga sinks back down again. 

“Holy shit, shut _up,_ none of these bad jokes right- _agh…_ ” Suga dips down deeper, cheeks hollowing out and giving one, long suck. Daichi gives up. He lets his hand fall to Suga’s head, rubbing his scalp with the tip of his thumb. Suga hums appreciatively, tongue darting out to lick into Daichi’s slit. He can’t help it, the way his hips buck forward responsively, wanting more of Suga’s mouth, wanting as much as Suga’s willing to give, just wants- 

“Suga, I-”

The door bangs open, colliding noisily with the wall and rattling picture frames in the hallway. Daichi jolts, dick still in Suga’s mouth, and Suga gags, pulling off in complete horror as they both stare at the front door. 

Two men stand in the door way, the taller of the two wrapped completely around the waist of the other, supported almost effortlessly by strong arms. They’re completely entangled together, hands up already half-unbuttoned shirts, mouths latched onto necks and collarbones. Daichi stares, dick out, softening incredibly quickly, eyes flicking from Suga, on the floor, pre-come decorating his lips, to the pair in the doorway, half way to fucking right there next to them. 

“AH. HOT DAD-KUN.” The taller one unlatches himself from his partner, finger pointed in an accusatory fashion. Without a better respond, Daichi stares back in confusion and points at himself. 

“OIKAWA.” Suga’s wailing from the ground, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He stands up, pulling his shirt back around his shoulders and crossing his arms. “You said you weren’t coming home?!” Suga’s the kind of person that blushes with his entire body, face, shoulders, and neck coloring with a bright pink flush. Daichi would find it cute, if the situation weren’t completely mortifying. He tucks himself away into his pants. 

“Uh. I should. Probably. Go?” Daichi offers, confused and depressingly turned on. 

“No!” Suga yells back, and at the same time, Oikawa says, “No, stay!” 

They all stare at him, Suga, Daichi, and the unnamed partner still standing at the door, looking completely out of place. 

“…Oikawa, we should probably-” He points at the still open door, signaling _yes, we should go, so this poor, poor man can get his damn blowjob._

“Oh, no, absolutely not, Iwa-chan! Hot dad-kun is staying, and so are we, and we’re all getting _delicious_ home cooked breakfast tomorrow morning!” 

Daichi stares, stares at Suga, stares at Oikawa, stares at Iwa-chan, and thinks that he was definitely, definitely, missing that whisky Suga promised him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1800-HOTLINE-TWIT/TUMBLR [@doggystylbucket ](https://twitter.com/doggystylbucket) on twitter and  @simplebitchdickgrayson  on tumblr  
> [ daichi ](https://49.media.tumblr.com/3ff2c3ba49c608388f438dd44ee35f4c/tumblr_n58964lxT81s6gs3io3_500.gif) and [ sugas ](https://45.media.tumblr.com/7d0214189646f8d9b768531e63a91600/tumblr_n58964lxT81s6gs3io2_500.gif) faces when ( •̀︿•́)人( •́ ڡ •̀ )v walk in

**Author's Note:**

> hmu [@doggystylbucket ](https://twitter.com/doggystylbucket) on twitter and  @simplebitchdickgrayson  on tumblr


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